


Legacy

by Xan Author of the Nightmare (xanothos)



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game), 鬼滅の刃 | Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba (Anime)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-26 03:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanothos/pseuds/Xan%20Author%20of%20the%20Nightmare
Summary: This is a tale of demons, and those who slay them. A tale of immortals, and the cost of their lives. A tale of a legacy, a name, and a Fang to be bared against the howling dark.This is the tale of the man once known as Sekiro, the One Armed Wolf, and of the boy who would become his disciple.





	1. Prologue: Mercy

Prologue: Mercy

Japan has always been a land of countless stories and legends. Tales of yokai that trick men, women, and children for play or for malice, whispers of oni that come in the night to feast on the flesh of the unsuspecting. Stories of gods and demons, of spirits and sages, and of immortals and monsters.

Some of those tales are pure fantasy, some hold grains of truth, and still others are almost completely accurate.

This is a tale of demons, and those who slay them. A tale of immortals, and the cost of their lives. A tale of a legacy, a name, and a Fang to be bared against the howling dark.

This is the tale of the man once known as Sekiro, the One Armed Wolf, and of the boy who would become his disciple.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The noise of metal scraping against wood echoed through the night, filling a small patch of woods surrounding a dilapidated temple with its quiet, rhythmic cadence. Most nights, the only beings present to hear the noise were the various animals that lived on Mt. Hiei.

However, this was not most nights.

Usually, demons avoided Mt. Hiei almost instinctively. However, through a mix of greed and reckless confidence, the demon named Kiba managed to ignore the deep, pervading unease oozing through his being and climb the mountain.

Pale skin seemed to almost shimmer under the moonlight, and long tresses of blond hair blew in the faint breeze as Kiba ascended.

_ ‘All those superstitious fools think that there’s some kind of spirit up here; I bet those Demon Slayers hid something up there that they don’t want His Excellency to find!’ _ Kiba let out a low chuckle, the sound like stones clacking together. ‘ _ If I bring it to him, I’m sure to receive his favor!’ _ He flexed his fingers with barely restrained glee. _ ‘Twelve Demon Moons, here I come!’ _

In the next instant he was gone, a faint puff of displaced air and dust the only indication that anyone had been there in the first place.

Swiftly and silently did he ascend the mountain. No leaf was left disturbed in his wake, no branch was left broken, no sleeping bird was woken. For in truth, Kiba was bare inches beneath the weakest of the Twelve Demon Moons; membership of Muzan Kibutsuji’s elite was nearly within his grasp even without this attempt to curry favor.

After all, Kiba wasn’t just powerful, he was _clever_. He picked his prey carefully and never stayed in one place for too long. Never hunted the same _kind_ _of prey_ for too long. And most importantly, he _never_ fought fair.

Had Kiba been right, had this been a secret hideaway of the Ubayashiki legacy, he likely would’ve been offered the opportunity to slay the bearer of the Lower Moon Six title and take his place.

Unfortunately for Kiba, he couldn’t have been more wrong. Perhaps he’d let his power go to his head, perhaps he’d accumulated enough bad karma as a demon to attract the gaze of a vengeful spirit, perhaps it was simply bad luck. Who could say? All that mattered was that he chose poorly...not that he knew it yet.

After about a minute, Kiba paused in his ascent and cocked his head. His demonically enhanced hearing could just barely make out a faint scraping sound, one he recognized. In his human life, Kiba had been married to a wood carver, a kind woman who made her living creating statues and charms for tourists. 

Of course, Kiba didn’t really remember much of this, due to the demonic blood coursing through him. All the same, a faint flicker of memory surfaced just long enough for him to recognize the sound of wood being carved.

_ ‘Hmm, climbing _ is _ hungry work. It couldn’t hurt to stop for a snack. Plus, sunrise should be soon; might as well kill two humans with one stone.’ _

An inhumanly wide grin split Kiba’s face, revealing fangs far too long to fit in the mouth of any human. He flexed his fingers again, and a pair of thin, flat bones erupted from his palms, continuing to grow until they were each about a meter in length. He wrapped his fingers around the blades, the bone molding to his grip perfectly.

He darted through the trees silently, his blades held low to his sides as he ran, until abruptly he emerged from the trees. Before him stood a small, dilapidated temple. Hell, it barely qualified as a temple; it looked more like a live-in shrine, really. Of more note was the absolutely _ staggering _number of hand-carved Buddha statues that surrounded the building in ever-widening, concentric circles. The only part of the clearing that was bare of statues was the path up to the entrance of the shrine.

However, Kiba’s mind was not on the pitiable state of the grounds, or the innumerable host of carven offerings. No, there was but one thing occupying his mind, one sole sensation consuming the very fiber of his reason.

_ The smell of blood. _

The blood was old, very old. The kind of faint iron tinge that would linger in a clinic or a morgue; the scent of an old wound. Normally, such a scent wouldn’t have much of an effect on a demon as old as Kiba.

But this was not normal blood.

Drool poured from the corners of Kiba’s mouth like a waterfall. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Power, Muzan’s favor, even _ his own life _; all were forgotten in the face of an overwhelming, ravenous hunger. If he couldn’t drink every last drop of that heavenly ichor, he would die.

Kiba charged into the temple, not noticing that the sounds of carving coming from within had stopped.

Then, all was silent.

-x-x-x-

The man who had, many eras past, been given the name “Sekiro” set the small, bloodstained carving knife down and turned to regard the severed head on the steps of his retreat. The severed head that was even now snarling at him, trying in vain to command its body to strike him down. Fortunately, the kick that had followed his decapitating blow had sent the demon’s body flying across the clearing to be impaled through the torso on a broken tree branch.

Time truly had not been kind to him, Wolf reflected as he absently brushed at the tattered rags he wore. A cut that would have once been so clean that no blood would have touched the blade was instead a jagged, cruel wound unbefitting of the skills pounded into his flesh by Owl, and the monks of Senpou Temple would have wept in shame at the inefficiency of his followup, were they still around in this era.

Three centuries with few opponents, and none of a level that could challenge him, had left him lacking a means of honing his skills. Wolf gazed at the demon that had made its way into his home. This one was the strongest yet, and even he had been dispatched with ease. A hand that had no right to be as youthful as it was dipped into a weathered satchel and came out with a small clump of thin, pink, faintly glowing pieces of paper. 

As Wolf sprinkled the divine confetti onto the snarling demon head, he closed his eyes and quietly offered a prayer.

_ “May you find in your next life the peace that was stolen from you in this one.” _

As pink flames consumed the head and body of the demon that was once Kiba Himeji, he felt no pain. A tear escaped his eye, going untouched by the divine flame as it burned away the corruption gnawing at the roots of his soul.

_ ‘Akano...forgive me, my love.’ _

Whether the vision of his wife that appeared before him was merely a construct of his dying mind or was him seeing into the Pure World, none could say. But as he died, as the blessed flames freed the surviving shards of his human soul from Muzan’s cursed blood, Kiba Himeji knew peace.

For a time, Wolf simply stood there in the door of his temple, breathing in the night air. A burning sensation in the stump of his left arm brought him back to his senses, and he retreated back inside.

As the first rays of the sun’s light peeked through the trees, the sound of wood being carved could be heard once more.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Kiyoshi was cold. It seemed there wasn’t the slightest flicker of warmth in his entire body...but even against that frigid backdrop he could feel an endless, vicious cold creeping up his arm, robbing him of all of his senses save one. How could this happen? It was like a nightmare…

That man...like it was nothing to him, he had killed Kiyoshi’s mother and devoured her in front of the boy’s eyes. There had been no blood, oddly. No viscera stained the fine wooden floors of the room, not a single scrap of human flesh remained to taint the mountain of fluffy pillows the smiling man reclined on.

Even as frozen evil cut open a gash in his hand, Kiyoshi’s sight vanished, leaving behind a faint afterimage of the lavish shrine they’d been called into.

His sense of smell and taste were the next to go, tearing from him the bitter scent of incense and the flavor of the pork bun the man had given him, which had already become as ash in his mouth.

When the ice began creeping through his veins so too did his sense of touch fade, though the all-consuming cold remained. 

Finally, his hearing was stolen. No more could he hear the sutras from the monks that lived here in this serpent’s den, nor could he hear the fervent prayers of those enamored with this man’s false glory. The last thing he heard was the man—no, the _ monster _ whisper five words to him.

_ Thank me if you survive. _

But nothing that the demon could do to him could steal his final, sixth sense. His mother’s family, the Ametsuchi clan, had in the past been a clan of sorcerers and spiritualists, of monks and mediums. But in the modern era, their services had become less and less wanted, and the once-great clan fell to obscurity.

And now… Now Kiyoshi was the only Ametsuchi left alive, and quite possibly the only person left in the world able to sense Chi.

(This assumption was far from the case, in truth, but Kiyoshi had no way of knowing this at the time.)

Kiyoshi had met many people in the years he and his mother traveled, and had learned to “close” his inner eye; even petty grudges made a person’s Chi uncomfortable to sense, to say nothing of actual hatred. But now he was wishing he’d toughened up and tried to get used to the discomfort, because if he had, if he made a practice of keeping that eye open…

_ He’d have never let his mother come within a mile of this abomination. _

Looking at the monster’s aura was like being caught in a blizzard made of frozen acid. It was a thousand times worse than the ice creeping up his arm. Mercifully though, he soon fell unconscious, his young body and mind unable to cope with all the abuse that had been heaped onto them.

-x-x-x-

The first thing Kiyoshi noticed when he woke up was that he could feel again. The second thing he noticed was the pain_ . _ It was a dull, throbbing ache in his lower arm, a far cry from the icy agony that had been creeping up the limb before. He shifted in the futon—

_ ‘Futon?’ _

That was when he noticed the third thing. As he cast about himself in confusion, he took in the room. It was sparse, almost bare, with but one sliding door and little furnishing beyond the futon he laid in and a small chest of drawers in a corner. Yet, in spite of its smallness, there remained an aura of care, of _ warmth _ about it. A far cry from the lavish room that they—

Kiyoshi froze, memories coming back like a clap of thunder.

Indeed, he was no longer in the shrine where he and his mother had stopped to rest for the night. No longer at that place where his mother had been..._ had been...! _

He began to hyperventilate, a brick of panic and grief pressing down on his chest as he struggled to sit up. A brick that only grew heavier when he tried to feel around him with his left hand, only for him to touch nothing, to _ feel _ nothing from that hand. He looked down at his hand, and saw empty space where it should have been.

Kiyoshi screamed. It took minutes for his voice to give out, and all that was left afterward was silence and tears.

  
-x-x-x-x-x-

Yes, indeed. This tale will be one fraught with sorrow and loss, of pain and fear. But so too will it be a tale of hope and determination, of strength both outer and inner, of outlasting the dark to reach the dawn. A tale of demons, and those who give them the only mercy they can. A tale of a sculptor and a doctor, both so very tired in their age, but who continue on nonetheless. A tale of a boy, orphaned by a demon, raised by a sculptor, trained as a shinobi and called to be a Slayer of Demons.

This is the tale of the boy who would be known as Sekiko, the One Armed Fox, and the path he shall take through this era.

* * *

**AN: Another day, another plotbunny. I watched Kimetsu no Yaiba and fell in love instantly, and once I binged the manga, I knew I had to cross it with Sekiro. This is the result. I hope you all enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 1: First Steps

Chapter 1: First Steps

Wind whispered through the trees of Mt. Hiei, stirring the still-budding spring leaves. The night was still and quiet for the most part, though a certain patch of forest was once more filled with the sound of wood being carved. 

Yes, indeed; the man called Wolf was yet again carving statues of Buddha...or rather, he had not  _ stopped _ carving since his interruption, save to take his daily drinks from the gourd at his side. He required neither sleep nor food nor water, and subsisted on nothing more than the miracle medicine first created by the prodigal doctor, Dogen, then later altered by his apprentice Emma and his former rival, Dosaku. Wolf’s lips twitched minutely at the thought of the woman. He was... _ unsure _ how to feel about Emma, what with all that had passed between them.

_ “Dearest Wolf. It shames me to ask this of you, but I must. May I entrust the future to you?” _

He had agreed, of course. His life had never been his own. First he had been his father’s tool, then he’d become Lord Kuro’s blade, and then…

And then Kuro had chosen to die for the sake of the people, and Wolf had been lost for the first time since Owl had taken him in. Was it any wonder that he accepted? Was it unexpected that he would snatch at the first sense of purpose offered to him? And if that purpose aligned with his Lord’s ideals, all the better. 

And so it was that Wolf partook of Emma and Dosaku’s magnum opus, born of their individual studies of the curse of the Dragon’s Heritage and of the Rejuvenating Sediment that aped it, respectively. No more would he age, nor would he sicken, but he was not truly immortal. He couldn’t afford to be, with the shadow of Shura hanging over his head; that was why he kept stewardship of the Mortal Blades even as he waited for a successor. Waited for a disciple capable of taking on his legacy and becoming the new bearer of the Shinobi Fang. Waited for a child strong enough to bear the burden of being the last in their line of shinobi, trained in the old ways. Waited for a soul strong enough to do what he could not, and cast off the shackles of Shura.

He waited, and waited, and waited. He waited three centuries, and there seemed to be no end to his vigil in sight. And yet he would continue to wait, for the sake of Emma’s request, for the sake of his legacy, and most of all, for the sake of the country Lord Kuro had adored, the people he had  _ died  _ for.

And so he carved the face of Buddha, a thousand times, a million times; so many times that he had long since lost count. And even after three centuries, his carvings were a far cry from artistic; he had but one hand to carve with, and that hand was shaped for a katana, not a carving knife. 

But it was not about the number of offerings, nor was about the skill with which they were made. No, it was about the process, the meditative state through which Wolf could stave off Shura that small bit longer. 

And so as he waited, he carved. He carved not as though his life depended on it, though it did. He carved not as though the lives of innocents depended on it, though they did. He carved not as though the future of the country depended on it, though it did.

He carved because it was all he could do to keep himself from falling, from succumbing, from becoming a  _ thing _ whose very existence would be a betrayal of his Lord.

-x-x-x-

Two nights had passed since the demon Kiba had made his ascent to the dilapidated shrine within that patch of forest, and Wolf did not anticipate any more visitors anytime soon. Demons aside, most humans avoided the temple, believing it haunted, the den of a demon, a sacred place, or some combination of the three. As for those few who knew who he was and still sought him out?

By necessity, they didn’t visit often, so it was unlikely that he would see hide nor hair of them any time soon. That boy who doted on Emma’s daughter so fervently had visited not two moons past, bringing with him more Divine Confetti to replenish Wolf’s stock, and two moons prior to that the Ubuyashiki heir had made his annual visit, this time with his newborn son. The man’s curse was worsening, and Wolf thought it likely that the frail man would not be able to make the journey to visit him for much longer.

…

It was a shame. Wolf would only ever serve one lord, that fact was absolute and beyond question. But Kagaya Ubuyashiki was so much like Lord Kuro that Wolf could not help but hold him in high esteem. If Wolf had been the type to philosophise, he might have wondered why, so often, the gods chose to take the best people so early.

But Wolf was not that sort of man, and continued carving even as he sifted through his thou—

It happened so fast that anyone observing would have dismissed the movement of his hand as a mere twitch of the muscle. 

The three gleaming shuriken that embedded themselves in the wall of the shrine begged to differ.

Wolf spoke, his voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse. “Still imperfect,” he said calmly, as though commenting on the weather. He set down his knife and put aside the half-carved Buddha as he turned towards the wall he’d attacked. Moments later, a male figure shimmered into view, his green-crowned head positioned perfectly between the shuriken; one each millimeters from each of his ears and the third barely a hair’s breadth from the top of his head. Slit-pupiled, lavender eyes narrowed as pale grey lips thinned.

“ _ How?” _ the boy demon demanded, folding his kimono-clad arms almost petulantly. “I  _ know _ I erased all trace of myself! Scent, sight, hearing, even  _ taste _ ; unless I walk directly into someone, my Blindfold technique completely obscures me!”

Wolf slowly shook his head. “You hid yourself from mundane senses.” The words came slowly, even for Wolf, who’d never been a conversationalist. “That isn’t enough, Yushiro.”

Yushiro’s eyes widened in realization, and he ground his teeth. “Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid! _ How could I miss something so obvious?”

As the boy continued to berate himself, Wolf cleared his throat loudly. Yushiro snapped from his ranting, then coughed into his fist, cheeks flushed. “Right, yes! The reason I’m here!” The flush faded from his cheeks and his face turned grim. “Lady Tamayo sent me to ask that you come to our current base of operations.”

Wolf’s eyebrows rose, but he gestured for Yushiro to continue. This was an incredibly unusual request, but the daughter of Emma and her...retainer? Apprentice? Consort? Wolf wasn’t sure what the relationship between the two was, beyond the fact that Yushiro adored her.

Regardless, Tamayo and Yushiro had been of aid to him for the better part of three centuries solely on the basis of Emma’s last will, and asked nothing in return. If they were asking such a thing as this, the situation must be either extremely dire or highly relevant to his task.

Wordlessly, Wolf walked to the back of the shrine, disappearing into the darkness for a short while. Just as Yushiro’s patience was about to run out, he returned, a long, chained-up box of lacquered wood on his back and a sheathed katana belted around his waist. Wolf vaguely recognized that he must make an absurd sight; a one-armed man clad in dusty, tattered rags nonetheless bearing a katana of fine quality and luggage that seemed like the sort of thing one would find in a museum or a shrine.

But that didn’t matter to Wolf. Being presentable to people was no longer part of his duties, just as food and sleep were no longer things he required. And like all useless parts of himself, he had discarded those things.

Yushiro gaped at him as he walked by, then rushed to follow him out the door. “Explain on the way,” Wolf instructed shortly but not unkindly.

Yushiro blinked, then nodded. ‘Well, it all started when Lady Tamayo caught the scent of  _ that _ blood…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Kiyoshi gazed blankly at the ceiling, having long since run out of tears and breath to spend on mourning. Now all he had left was a deep, gnawing void in his chest, a wound in his spirit left behind when his mother’s love was decisively torn from him. 

It hurt. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to remember, it hurt to even be  _ awake _ . The bottomless ache of loss seemed to stretch into forever. So caught up in gazing into this abyss of grief was he that he did not even hear the door of the room slide open, and barely reacted when the back of a thin hand was pressed against his forehead.

He did, however, react, when that same slim hand slipped under his back and pushed him up into a sitting position with surprising strength. For the first time since Kiyoshi awoke, he was shaken from his spiral of despondency, even if only for a moment.

Why was he shaken so? As he gazed at the woman who held him up, he did not register her gentle, almost regal features. No, what he gazed at was her life energy, and though it would’ve been like comparing a blizzard to a snowflake, he felt that same squirming, almost  _ caustic _ energy that  _ that thing _ had possessed.

However, it did not bite at him like the monster’s had. It felt almost... _ asleep _ , and was wreathed in the pleasant warmth that Kiyoshi had long associated with kindness. With his mother.

It quickly became apparent that he had  _ not _ , in fact, run out of tears, as the front of the woman’s flowery kimono quickly became damp as he sobbed into it. Gentle hands patted his head and rubbed circles into his back as the woman held him and whispered soothing words into his ear, her voice like a lullaby.

After a few minutes, Kiyoshi managed to regain some semblance of composure, and pulled back from the woman, sniffling. 

She smiled softly, sadly. “I am sure you are wondering where you are, little one.”

Kiyoshi sniffed. “‘M not little. ‘M eleven.” 

The woman took this in stride, however. “Of course. My mistake. I hope you’ll forgive me…?”

The manners and decorum that had been drilled into his head took over. “K-Kiyoshi. Kiyoshi A-Ametsuchi. I’m in y-your care.”

She smiled. “It is nice to meet you, Kiyoshi, though I do wish that it had been under more pleasant circumstances than this.” She brought her hand to her chest and inclined her head. “My name is Tamayo, and I am a doctor. I found you stumbling in the woods, delirious and in great pain, so I took you in.” She glanced at what remained of his left arm, a sad look in her eyes. “I am afraid that I was too late to save your arm, though.”

Kiyoshi wiped the dregs of his tears from his eyes, and mustered what strength of will he had. “Miss Tamayo...why do you feel like that evil t-thing that a-ate m-my m-m-mom? H-he looked like a man, but he felt... _ wrong. _ You feel a little wrong too, but you also feel kind.” 

Tamayo’s eyes widened, then her face softened. “I see. Well, the one you speak of was a demon…and so am I.” Before Kiyoshi could respond, she continued, “But I refuse to be the same kind of demon as those ones.” She looked him dead in the eyes. “I promise you, Kiyoshi. I will not eat you.”

Kiyoshi gave a small, broken smile that made Tamayo’s heart ache. “I know, Miss Tamayo. The bad inside you is asleep.”

-x-x-x-

Tamayo felt a lump rise inside her throat, and looked away. She didn’t deserve words like those, not while she had still yet to find a cure.

Her eyes fell on the reason she’d entered in the first place: the tray that held the medicine she’d brought to start the long process of purging the dregs of Muzan Kibutsuji’s wretched ichor from this poor child. Thankfully, she had found him in time to confine nearly all of it to his lower arm, but there would still be some that spread into his system and that would cause him to either die or turn if left unchecked.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet had time to do more than extract the blood from the arm, so the treatment she was able to give Kiyoshi would be a long and arduous one. Ordinarily, she’d have been pleased to obtain such a pure sample of Muzan’s blood, but not at this cost. Never at the cost of yet another child’s innocence. 

But lamenting reality would do nothing to change the state of affairs, while the opportunity to study the blood might well do so. It  _ had _ to be from an Upper Moon; only they had a high enough concentration of Muzan’s blood in them to turn a human into a demon.

She shook her head slightly. There would be time enough to ponder the identity of her new patient’s assailant later; now, she needed to focus on  _ treating _ that patient. She picked up a small earthenware cup filled with a nearly transparent, light violet liquid.

“Kiyoshi,” she said softly, “I have some medicine here for you. That demon left bad things in your body when he hurt your arm, so you need to drink this.”

She handed the cup to Kiyoshi, and he sipped at it gingerly, then wrinkled his brow. “It doesn’t taste like medicine.”

Tamayo smiled faintly. “It may not be bitter like some medicines, but it does work. It will take a while, but you’ll only have to take it once a day.”

After Kiyoshi finished his medicine, Tamayo reached over to the tray and handed him a rice ball, which he ate slowly and uninterestedly. She’d seen that look on his face before, more times than she’d ever wanted to see it. It was the face of someone who was only eating to appease their doctor, not because they had an appetite.

_ ‘At least he  _ is _ eating,’ _ she thought sadly, her heart aching for him.  _ ‘This is yet another sin to be laid at your feet, Muzan Kibutsuji. One day there  _ will  _ be a reckoning, and on that day, I hope that the gods give back to you every shard of karma you have built up. You take, and take, and take, and you are never satisfied. For—’ _

“Miss Tamayo?” She snapped back to the present, internally scolding herself for losing herself in her thoughts like that. It was possible that she was too emotionally invested…

“Yes, Kiyoshi?” she asked kindly.

He gazed up at her with broken eyes. “Why did my mom have to die?”

…

That was a question for which Tamayo had no answer. So she did all she could, and held Kiyoshi to her as he cried himself to sleep.

As she left Kiyoshi’s room, Tamayo completed her thought aloud, angry tears in her eyes.

“For all the lives you have stolen, all the happiness you have trampled upon, all the families you have torn asunder; for what you have done to this land, Muzan Kibutsuji...You. Will.  _ Burn _ . I’ll do everything in my power to ensure it.”


	3. Chapter 2: Partings and Meetings

Chapter 2: Partings and Meetings

After several hours of walking, Wolf and Yushiro were forced to stop their journey. The sun was rising after all, and in spite of Tamayo having made great strides in the adjustment of demon biology, conquering the sun was still well outside her capabilities. Thus, the duo of travelers made haste, leaving the road and taking refuge inside a nearby cavern. 

As they settled in the deep cave, Wolf produced a half-finished statue from somewhere on his person and took up his carving once more. After a moment, Yushiro noticed that it was the same statue that Wolf had been carving back at his temple, in spite of the fact that he had not seen the other man pick it back up after setting it down. 

Yushiro blinked, then shook his head, deciding to just chalk it up to Wolf’s shinobi skills and move on. “What do you make of it all, Sir Wolf?” he asked, referring to the information he’d detailed during their journey up to now.

Wolf let out a thoughtful hum as he continued to carve. “Demons are more active, more  _ powerful _ …” He frowned, looking out of the cave with eyes fixed on a landscape far from this place and time. “The spirit of the air is tight, like a drawn bow...things are coming to a head.”

He set down his knife and rubbed at his stump. “The next decade will decide this country’s fate.”

Yushiro stared at Wolf. “How can you know this?”

Wolf shook his head. “Can’t explain it, not to someone who doesn’t have the sight. When you climb to Heaven and come back down, the way you see the world... _ changes _ .” Wolf shrugged, and picked his knife back up. “Time will tell.”

And that, to Yushiro, was cue enough to drop the subject.

An hour or two passed in silence, with Yushiro dozing further back in the cavern while Wolf remained where he was, carving solemnly and without faltering. 

Around the third hour past sunrise Yushiro stirred, reached into his belongings, and withdrew a small flask. When he drank from it, the faint metallic odor wafting from it gave away the contents of his drink. Wolf was unsurprised; even if Yushiro and Tamayo had altered bodies, they were still demons who required human blood to survive. With Tamayo being a physician, he doubted it was much trouble to acquire a suitable amount of blood without harming people.

Wolf set aside his carving once again, and produced a weathered gourd from somewhere on his person, popping the stopper out with his teeth before taking a long swig. The concoction was as bitter as ever, but Wolf had long since gotten used to the taste.

The hours passed uneventfully, Yushiro filling the time by napping or writing in a journal he’d brought along amongst his belongings. Wolf, of course, continued to carve. By the time the sun slipped behind the trees, Wolf was nearly finished detailing the statue’s face. Yushiro got to his feet and peered out of the cave, making sure to avoid standing in the last vestiges of the day’s sunlight.

“It should be safe to travel shortly, Sir Wolf,” he remarked, receiving an affirmative grunt from the other man. 

A few minutes later, the sun had finally fallen beneath the horizon. The duo exited the cave and started to walk back towards the road when abruptly, Wolf froze.

A sensation crept up his spine, one he hadn’t felt in centuries. It would’ve been nostalgic, were it not so  _ wrong. _

“Sir Wolf?” Yushiro began to ask, but his question was quickly stolen from his lips as the ground began to rumble. Loud cracks of splitting stone sounded during the shaking, and a grim, cursed light began to emanate from the cave they’d just taken refuge in. Abruptly as it had begun, the shaking stopped, and all was silent for a breath.

Then, a rasping, rattling noise, almost like metal being drawn across bone echoed from the cavern mouth, and slowly, deliberately, a black-cloaked figure wreathed in dark azure flame staggered from the cave. The very cave that had housed them,  _ and them alone _ , not moments before. 

The figure slouched forward, leaning on a long spear, and then it  _ moved. _

A sheathed katana hung from the figure’s hip, Wolf noted, mere moments before he sprung into action, one foot rising and falling to stomp the spear thrust that had been aimed at Yushiro’s head. Even as he foiled the attack, his one hand had darted into his rags, emerging with a small, lacquered box. 

In nearly the same breath, Wolf hurled the box at his ominous foe and drew his trusty blade, Kusabimaru, from his hip. His draw immediately shifted into a horizontal strike, which split the container in twain to reveal its contents.

_ A flash of cherry-blossom pink, and the sound of prayers. The scent of incense, and the warmth of sacred flame. _

The Divine Confetti burned away at the apparition’s black cloak even as it set Kusabimaru ablaze. The spirit howled, not in pain but in anger, and cast the cloak aside, revealing an eerily glowing skeleton wearing worn, rusted armor, of a sort quite familiar to Wolf. It was the armor of an  _ ashigaru _ , a footsoldier, and looked to be from the same era as he: the Sengoku era.

Wolf did not know who the spirit had been in life, nor what banner he marched under, what lord he had served. Nor did he know why the spirit seemed  _ quite _ focused on Yushiro. Perhaps it could sense what he was?

Wolf shook his head slightly. All of that was immaterial. This being was unmistakably an  _ onryo _ , a specter of the unquiet, wrathful dead risen to take vengeance for whatever despair it had faced in life. He was unsure if such a being had the means to kill a demon, but he was not about to risk Yushiro’s life on a ‘maybe’.

Wolf spared a moment for a backwards glance at Yushiro and noted that the other man was frozen stiff, eyes wide and fingers contorted into claws. Apparently even demons were susceptible to the wrenching, cloying terror that stemmed from coming into contact with the unhallowed and unearthly for the first time.

Before he could even think to try and snap his companion out of his paralytic fear, the  _ onryo _ lashed out again, this time with a sweeping strike as it drifted backwards like a leaf in the wind. 

Instincts long left untouched sprang to life as he turned aside the blow, simultaneously shifting his stance to lead with his left foot while he partially concealed his blade with his body.

_ ‘This...this one could be trouble.’ _

The stump of Wolf’s left arm warmed as though in agreement.

-x-x-x-

The spirit’s skeletal jaws gaped open and let out an eerie hiss, and...well, to say it  _ spoke  _ would not truly be accurate. It was as though the  _ shadow  _ of words drifted from its mouth; the edge of a meaning was just barely discernible, but  _ only _ just.

Little could be gleaned from the  _ onryo’s _ not-voice, but if one were paying attention, underneath all the spirit’s hatred a sense of confusion, loss, and shame could be found. And beneath it all... _ despair _ .

Sir Wolf, so focused was he on the battle at hand, did not pay this any heed...but Yushiro! Yushiro, who was fixed in place first by unearthly, instinctual fear of this creature, this  _ wrong _ thing before him, noticed. 

Perhaps it was because he was vulnerable to the being’s spiritual emanations due to unfamiliarity, perhaps it was because he knew those particular emotions as well as he knew the back of his own hands. Regardless, experiencing the weight of the spirit’s ire was enough to break the cloying grasp of terror, and so Yushiro immediately cloaked himself with his Blood Demon Art and leapt into the trees as Sir Wolf rejoined battle with the spirit, godsfire clashing with the malice of the grave even as steel met steel.

He was woefully ignorant of what manner of monster this was, but Sir Wolf clearly knew what it was...and it clearly knew what  _ he _ was, if it was so eager to take his head over the visibly armed, if one-armed, threat. 

How Sir Wolf had immediately produced and used an inordinate amount of Divine Confetti was also concerning; the man was  _ incredibly  _ frugal, to a frankly unhealthy standard. That he had used an entire box, the product of six months labor, for a single foe...it suggested unpleasant things about the spirit. Yushiro truly did not wish to consider the possibility that it could only be hurt by divine power, but he had to. 

Because neither the country  _ nor _ Sir Wolf himself could afford him fighting for an extended period of time, lest a force that even that bedamned  _ Muzan _ feared be let free onto this world once more. A calamity given flesh, the everlasting spirit of bloodlust and malice born of a failed attempt to create a weapon to strike down the gods.

_ Shura. _

Yushiro shuddered convulsively. Even the tales that had been passed down by Lady Tamayo’s mother were enough to strike primal fear into his heart, and Lady Emma had not borne witness to the Ashura of Hatred’s rampage. She had only trained with her gentle bladework, trained to cut down the bearer of Shura before they could fully incarnate that darkness into the material world.

What then, would become of Japan, of  _ the world _ , if Sir Wolf became an Ashura? The man who had not only cut down that very incarnation of hatred, but had also invaded the palaces of heaven, fought an invading dragon god, and  _ won that fight _ .

No, he decided. Such a cataclysm could not happen,  _ would _ not happen. Sir Wolf’s resolve was strong, even if Yushiro and Lady Tamayo worried about him being lonely. 

Yushiro would have faith in Sir Wolf. It was all he could do, under the circumstances.

_ Unless _ …

-x-x-x-

It was all Wolf could do to not react to the fire in his stump. He couldn’t afford to let the pain weaken him; this apparition was proving to be  _ quite  _ troublesome. It wasn’t that it was as inhumanly strong as one of the Headless samurai, or even as strong as the demon he’d slain a few days past, and it did not possess mastery over countless tormented souls like the sorcerous Shichimen had.

No, the trouble with  _ this _ spirit was twofold: first, it was aggravatingly resilient, reassembling its body after every lethal blow. Second, it fought with impressive skill. Of course, to the Wolf who had cut down a Sword Saint resurrected at his prime with all the wrath of Ashina’s gods at his back, this foe would have been nothing more than a footnote.

But he was not that Wolf, had not  _ been  _ that Wolf for more than three centuries. Not only were his skills incredibly rusty, a number of his strongest sword techniques were simply unusable with only one arm. To make matters worse, the cherry-blossom flames on Kusabimaru were dying down, a torch where there once had been a bonfire.

Wolf narrowed his eyes, and settled into a deep stance. He needed to finish this with one, decisive technique, or there would be trouble. 

The  _ onryo _ seemed to sense Wolf’s seriousness, and cast its spear aside, drawing its blade and charging with vicious abandon.

He pulled his glowing blade back, positioning it for a thrust…

_ And _

_ Then  _

_ He _

_ Flew. _

A weathered, bearded face appeared in Wolf’s mind’s eye, a deep scar splitting his wrinkled features and a braided mane of silver hair hanging like so many nooses down the man’s back.

_ “Fear is absolute,” Owl said, a solemn look on his face as he stood above Wolf. “There is no shame in losing one battle. BUT!” A vicious grin threatened to tear Owl’s face in twain. “You  _ must  _ take revenge by any means necessary!” _

Wolf wasn’t quite sure why his father’s face, his teacher’s words had come to him here and now. Perhaps it was because he was tapping into the technique he’d taken from him, just as Owl himself had taken Kingfisher’s technique and made it his own. From the simplistic but effective Shadowrush Owl had crafted Shadowfall, a deadly but risky technique that suited Owl’s way of fighting all too well.

_ Kusabimaru bit deep into the spectral essence of his foe, who let out a shriek. _

And Wolf had taken Shadowfall and made it his own, for a time content with his father’s work. But eventually, he too felt the need to adapt it, to craft his own variant.

_ Wolf’s foot pushed off of the spirit’s metal cuirass, launching him skyward. _

And so…

_ As he came back down, Wolf spun. Not diagonally, like Owl would have done, but vertically, into a somersault. _

And so!

_ Like a guillotine did Wolf fall upon the spirit, bisecting it vertically from crown to crotch. But he did not stop there. Even as one foot touched the ground, he was turning, bringing Kusabimaru back around for a second strike. _

Shadow _ fang _ was born.

_ The second blow separated head from shoulders with a sound like a clap of thunder, and _ Wolf fell to a knee, exhausted. His arm burned like he’d dipped it in boiling water, but that was fine. As long as it still  _ hurt _ he was not past his limit; if it became numb, or worse, started to feel  _ good _ , however…

A rattling sound interrupted his thoughts, as before his very eyes, the spirit reassembled itself once again. 

The recovery was markedly slower than previous times, and it was quite obvious that it was in no shape to do so again, based on the fact that its skull was barely half-mended and its left arm had simply failed to be reattached at all. It seemed as though one more solid blow would take the specter down.

Unfortunately, that was the moment when the dying embers of divine fire lighting Kusabimaru’s edge guttered out with a decisive finality. Even if Wolf could muster the strength for a finishing blow, it would be meaningless without the blessing of Divine Confetti.

His only recourse, then, was to risk everything, and draw the Mortal—

At that moment, a pair of holes burst through the spirit’s chest. As a pair of clawed hands slowly faded into view, Wolf noticed with shock and some amount of horror that Yushiro had  _ set his own hands ablaze  _ with Divine Confetti. 

_ ‘Even the monks of Senpou Temple never applied divine power directly to their body; it’s  _ unsafe _ . But Yushiro…’ _

Even knowing that the divine fire was dangerous, and doubly so for demons, Yushiro had gambled that he’d be able to make a difference in the fight in spite of the flames eating away at him.

And make a difference he had! The  _ onryo _ let out one final, mournful hiss, and fell apart into dust. This time, it was Yushiro who was too focused on battle (and putting out the fire on his hands) to understand the spirit, and Wolf who was able to glean what it was asking for, what it was lamenting.

It did not speak, but if the spirit’s last sentiments  _ had _ taken the shape of words, then perhaps they’d have looked something like this.

_ “Where? Where is my home? My family? I didn't mean to be a coward...just let me hold my daughter one last time. _

_ “Please...I don’t want to die alone.” _

Wolf sheathed Kusabimaru and closed his eyes for a moment, and spoke a silent prayer for the lost soul, in hopes that it would finally find rest, whatever shape that might take.

His eyes then snapped back open, and he rose to his feet. His one hand snapped out and grasped Yushiro’s wrist above where the fire had touched and pulled it close, examining the damage.

It...was honestly far less dire than Wolf had been expecting. He’d have put even odds on the hands simply being  _ gone _ , burned to ash in the wind just like the spirit had been; just like the  _ last _ demon who’d been touched by Divine Confetti had been.

He was not unscathed, this was true; both of his hands were badly burned. But no more badly burned than a human would have been by directly handling the divine. Even as Wolf looked on, though, the burns did not heal. 

Curious indeed.

Wolf looked at Yushiro, his facial expression inscrutable. “That was reckless,” Wolf began, Yushiro flinching and opening his mouth, “But you acted decisively. Thank you, Yushiro.” The words came slowly, awkwardly, and so too did the clap on the shoulder that was  _ probably _ supposed to be affectionate.

Awkward or not, the praise made heat rise in Yushiro’s cheeks all the same. “S-shall we leave, Sir Wolf? The s-sooner we get back to Lady Tamayo, the sooner she can examine my hands, and the sooner you can meet the boy.”

Wolf looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. The boy...no, it was too early to make assumptions. He would know when he saw him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The first thing Kiyoshi heard when he woke was a loud, unfamiliar male voice echoing through the hallway outside his room. However, that was not what woke him up. No, the responsibility for  _ that _ lay with the vast, looming,  _ alien _ source of life energy that had entered Miss Tamayo’s house.

It felt like no living thing he’d ever felt before, like a sword had gained a soul and grown to become a blade hanging over the neck of the entire country. As he trembled under the weight of the being’s existence, a sensation he’d nearly forgotten made itself known to him.

Even as he gazed at the newcomer’s Chi…

_ So too did the alien Chi gaze back. _


	4. Chapter 3: Loss

Chapter 3: Loss

Wolf and Yushiro sat side-by-side on the tatami mats that covered the floor of Tamayo’s checkup room. Tamayo herself had already examined Yushiro’s burned hands, and administered an agent that allowed demons to regenerate even more quickly than usual. Curiously, the burns were  _ still _ slow to fade, and Tamayo instructed Yushiro to avoid carrying heavy objects for the next few days, as it seemed like his hands had been temporarily stripped of their demonic strength by the Divine Confetti.

Now though, Tamayo had moved on to Wolf, unraveling the bandages that covered his stump so that she could check the progression of Shura. She made a sound of displeasure as she ran her hand over what passed for flesh on the last few centimeters of his arm. Where on any other amputee there would be a scar-tissue-covered stump, Wolf’s left arm truncated in a twisted mass of coal-black  _ meat _ , shot through with dimly glowing red veins that were hot to the touch.

Tamayo clicked her tongue. “As I expected, the strain of your recent fight has worsened your condition. It is fortunate that you were coming here already; I have a new drug that I would like to administer, and I will conduct the usual bloodletting so that the corruption does not build up more than normal.”

Wolf nodded wordlessly. He doubted that the drug would be terribly effective; for all the physical symptoms Shura could inflict on the bodies of its bearers, Shura itself was largely rooted in the soul. Draining the blood that was most thick with the corruption could help slow the spread, but such a practice was a stopgap at best. The only thing that completely halted it, Wolf found, was devoting himself to carving Buddha. 

“After that,” Tamayo continued, setting down his arm and turning to the tray beside her to retrieve a scalpel and bedpan, “I suppose you will want to meet with young Kiyoshi?”

Even as Wolf gave a slight nod, there was a faint rustling noise at the room’s sliding door. Tamayo set the scalpel and pan down beside Wolf’s arm and glided noiselessly over to the door. 

In a single, fluid motion she opened the door, and a one-armed boy with ash-grey hair and bright blue eyes stumbled into the room. He looked around in startlement, before meeting Tamayo’s gaze with a sheepish expression on his face. Tamayo let out a very faint sigh, before laying a hand on Kiyoshi’s shoulder and steering him over towards Wolf, sitting the boy down on the tatami in front of him and telling him to wait. 

As soon as Wolf locked eyes with Kiyoshi, what he had felt when they had first entered Tamayo’s home was confirmed. This boy, young though he was, could sense the energy of the world just as he could. That was... _ interesting _ , but also concerning.

...Wait, why was Kiyoshi shaking like that?

-x-x-x-

Kiyoshi could not help but tremble, awe and terror mixing as eyes like polished obsidian stared into his soul. Whoever or  _ whatever  _ this man was, the inhuman vastness and terrific weight of his Chi was utterly unlike anything he’d ever seen, including...including  _ him _ .

He sucked in a ragged gasp, the mere thought of the demon making his heart clench in anger, fear, and grief.  _ ‘Be strong, Kiyoshi. Be strong for mother. For Miss Tamayo. For your ancestors.’ _

Kiyoshi took another breath, then a third, and finally managed to stop shaking. Now that he’d recovered some semblance of calm, he noticed two things: first, that there was another, younger-looking man in the room whose Chi felt quite similar to Miss Tamayo’s. Second, the wretched ruin that was the first man’s left arm.

Kiyoshi’s right hand, almost moving of its own accord, drifted over to rub at the stump of  _ his  _ left arm. When Miss Tamayo had taken off his bandages to clean the wound, his arm hadn’t looked  _ anything _ like that. That blackened, knotted mass of flesh...it was revolting, if he was being honest, and the only reason his gorge didn’t rise at the sight was because he was still quite numb to disgusting sights after seeing…

His hand gripped his stump tightly.  _ ’Stay strong. Stay. Strong.’ _

Mercifully, Kiyoshi’s mind was wrenched away from  _ that _ when Miss Tamayo took up her scalpel and made several clean, shallow cuts along the unnaturally red veins that snaked through the knot of flesh. Blood far redder and far brighter than it should have been oozed out of the incisions, thick and viscous like tree sap (or more accurately, like lava, but Kiyoshi had yet to see such). It slowly but surely dripped into the pan below, each drop making a hissing sound as a small puff of steam rose from where the clearly scorching hot blood impacted the metal.

Kiyoshi looked on with a mixture of horror and fascination as the bedpan slowly filled with the unnatural humors of this man, this  _ being  _ whose soul felt more akin to a massive  _ weapon _ than anything alive.

And yet…

Kiyoshi hadn’t noticed it the first time his Chi had brushed up against the man’s, but now that he really  _ looked _ at it, he could see a quiet core of humanity, dim but carefully guarded. If this man was a gleaming sword, then that meticulously cultivated humanity was a worn but intact scabbard.

He didn’t know  _ why _ the man’s Chi was so vast and powerful, but based on the fact that Miss Tamayo had said he wanted to meet with him...Kiyoshi figured he’d learn soon enough.

After a few minutes, the drip of syrupy blood ceased, the veins wrapping around the stump having lost their angry red glow. The man exhaled, but gave no other indication of how he felt about the treatment. Miss Tamayo then rose, the still-steaming bedpan held carefully in both hands as she walked over to a table and set it down. As she did, Kiyoshi caught a brief glimpse of what looked to be a piece of paper attached to the bottom.

Quickly enough, though, Miss Tamayo came back over carrying two small mugs that Kiyoshi recognized. The medicine she’d been giving him was in one of them, and as usual he swallowed it without much trouble. The other cup went to the older man, and he drank it down in one swallow with no change to his facial expression.

...Kiyoshi was starting to get the feeling that this man didn’t show what he was feeling or thinking very much.

Before he could think too much on that subject, though, Miss Tamayo turned to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Kiyoshi. I would like to introduce you to Wolf,” she gestured to the grim, one-armed man, “as well as to my assistant, Yushiro.” She next gestured to the younger man, who seemed to either be deep in thought or constipated, based on the face he was making.

Once more the manners drilled into him took hold, as he bowed his head and introduced himself. “I’m Kiyoshi Ametsuchi. I’ll be in your care.” The now-named Wolf gave a short nod, while Yushiro seemed to snap out of whatever was causing his face to contort like that and replied, “It is nice to meet you, Kiyoshi.”

Miss Tamayo spoke again. “Wolf has been my patient for most of my life, and was my mother’s patient before me, some three centuries ago.”

Kiyoshi blinked, then glanced between the two. “Three hundred years? But...Mister Wolf isn’t a demon, is he?”

“No.” This time it was Mister Wolf who spoke, and his voice was as gruff and hoarse as anything Kiyoshi had ever heard. “I am...a  _ special _ case.”

When it didn’t seem as though Mister Wolf would elaborate, Miss Tamayo picked up where he’d left off. “My mother was the disciple of the greatest doctor to ever live, Lord Dogen. She worked with one of his rivals to create a drug that would keep Wolf from aging, so long as he continues to take it.”

Kiyoshi stared, wide-eyed with wonder. He didn’t have anything approaching a doctor’s level of knowledge, given his age, but mother…

_ ‘Stay strong!’ _

The Ametsuchi clan had practiced  _ renkinjutsu _ , what the Westerners called “alchemy”, and so mother had been sure to teach him as much as she could so that the clan’s legacy could continue. All this amounted to was theoretical knowledge, though; she’d planned to start teaching him practical applications in a few years, once he’d turned thirteen, but…

_ ‘Stay! Strong!’ _

But now mother was  _ gone _ , and all he had left were memories and knowledge. Kiyoshi’s face crumpled, and he rubbed at his eyes with the back of his arm.

_ ‘I’m sorry, mother. I’m not strong enough. Not yet.’ _

-x-x-x-

Wolf glanced at Tamayo as Kiyoshi seemed to curl in on himself, face contorted with grief. Tamayo had a sad look on her face, but nonetheless knelt down beside Kiyoshi and placed her hand on his shoulder. The grieving boy all but collapsed into her shoulder, his body shaking as he was wracked with silent sobs.

Now, contrary to appearances, Wolf was  _ not _ an emotionless automaton. Seeing a child suffer like this  _ did _ affect him; he simply  _ did not know how to deal with it. _ So Wolf simply frowned and kept his silence. He glanced over at Yushiro when the man abruptly stood and stalked out of the room, a thunderous expression on his face and his fangs bared in wrath.

Wolf didn’t know  _ why _ , but he felt compelled to follow Yushiro, so he did. He found the other man in a small room, leg already blurring out to strike a metal training dummy with a heinous clang. Wolf watched Yushiro attack the dummy with a vengeance, his kicks continually increasing in speed and force so that eventually he had to actually  _ try _ to keep track of them. 

After a few minutes, there was a loud  _ crack _ , and the top half of the metal dummy slammed into the wall opposite Yushiro, before falling to the floor with a decisive crash.

Yushiro let out a growl, and turned on his heel, presumably to fetch a new dummy, then froze upon seeing Wolf. Like paint slowly being poured down a canvas, redness crept up Yushiro’s neck and face.

“Feeling better?” Wolf asked gruffly, awkwardly.  _ Gods _ he was out of his element.

Yushiro’s blush began to fade as he answered with a sigh, “No, not really, Sir Wolf.” He ground his teeth. “I just...I feel so  _ helpless. _ Lady Tamayo at least can make her medicine and study Muzan’s blood, but me? What good am I? If Muzan Kibutsuji came here right here and right now, I would be  _ useless _ . For all I act as though I would protect her, Lady Tamayo would be more effective at fending him off than I would. Between her drugs and her heirloom blade, she would at least have a sliver of a chance, but me? I cannot do  _ anything _ .”

Yushiro grit his teeth as tears filled his eyes. “I cannot protect Lady Tamayo, I cannot heal those who truly need help, I cannot even  _ comfort a grieving child! _ What, then, is my purpose for being here?”

“Have you already forgotten, Yushiro?” Wolf asked quietly. “How you struck down that  _ onryo _ ? How you kept me from having to risk drawing the Mortal Blade?”

Yushiro’s eyes widened. “I—”

“Yushiro…” The younger man froze as Tamayo’s voice rang out from the doorway. Wolf and Yushiro turned towards the door as one. Tamayo stood there, one hand covering her mouth while the other was occupied by Kiyoshi’s own.

Rather than Tamayo speaking further, though, it was Kiyoshi who spoke, his voice still raw with grief but nonetheless clear. “Mister Yushiro...when you came back, Miss Tamayo’s Chi became brighter, stronger,  _ happier _ . People can lie, but Chi doesn’t; you’re important to Miss Tamayo.”

As Yushiro flushed red anew, Wolf was mentally re-evaluating Kiyoshi’s level of sensitivity to life energy; the boy was  _ far _ more advanced than Wolf had anticipated. To be able to sense  _ and _ accurately interpret fluctuations in Chi like that was a skill that had taken  _ him _ the better part of three decades to figure out, though the fact that he hadn’t had any sort of instruction was probably part of the reason.

Wolf decided to put that train of thought to the side for the time being, as Tamayo was now addressing him.

“Wolf, would you be so kind as to take young Kiyoshi back to the clinic and talk with him there? It seems that I need to have a talk with Yushiro in private.” Tamayo smiled sadly, and Wolf nodded. It would be best to let her handle Yushiro; Wolf had already contributed all he could to that conversation.

-x-x-x-

Once Mister Wolf had led Kiyoshi back to the clinic, Mister Wolf walked over to where his belongings were stashed and rummaged around inside a large box. Though Kiyoshi briefly glimpsed a pair of sword hilts inside the box, what Mister Wolf had produced was a smaller box, about the length of a sword but much thicker.

“I am sure you want to know why I was interested in meeting you, Kiyoshi,” Wolf said, laying his hand atop the box. At Kiyoshi’s nod, Wolf continued. “To explain that, I must first explain my past. My time as Sekiro, the one-armed Wolf, and the nature of  _ this _ .”

At that, Wolf opened the box, and Kiyoshi saw what was inside: A mechanical, almost skeletal forearm, with many odd devices placed around it almost reverently. The strangest part about the prosthetic arm, though?

_ It was far too small for Wolf to have ever worn; it was exactly the same size as Kiyoshi’s own forearm. _


	5. Chapter 4: Purpose

Chapter 4: Purpose

Mister Wolf, Kiyoshi found, was a master of squeezing a great deal of meaning into very few words. Perhaps it was because he could see the man’s Chi, perhaps it was the intensity with which he spoke, but Kiyoshi found himself enthralled by Mister Wolf’s tale. 

It was a tale of clashing armies in the day and clashing knives in the night. A tale of a lord coveted, a lord stolen and a lord rescued. It was a tale of spirits and monsters, of men and gods. It was the tale of the shinobi called Sekiro, the trials he had undergone and the things he had to sacrifice.

It was a noble, bittersweet, and heartbreaking tale. That said…

“But Mister Wolf, what does this have to do with me?” Kiyoshi asked.

“That—” Mister Wolf started, then coughed. He reached into the folds of the rags he wore and brought out a gourd, taking a swig from it to wet his throat. Kiyoshi got the feeling that Mister Wolf wasn’t used to talking as much as he had. “That is complicated.”

After putting away his gourd, Mister Wolf reached into the box sitting between them and removed the false arm, holding above the wrist. “This is the Shinobi Fang. It was made by Dogen.”

Mister Wolf looked up from the prosthetic to meet Kiyoshi’s eyes. “Dogen was a doctor. But not  _ just _ a doctor. He was also a practitioner of sorcery.” Mister Wolf hefted the arm. “This was his greatest creation.”

Mister Wolf looked back down at the arm, eyes clouded. “The Shinobi Fang can only ever be wielded by one person at a time. It... _ ties  _ itself to the fate of a person. It reshapes itself to fit them and their needs. The wielder need only seek out materials for its alteration.”

He set the prosthetic back in the box. “It served me well, during the time I was chosen by it. Now I am its caretaker, just as the Sculptor was before me.”

Mister Wolf looked back up at Kiyoshi, a serious expression on his face. “The Fang has chosen _your_ fate to attune to next. It chose you nearly three centuries ago. When I took it off, it took the shape and size of your arm.”

Kiyoshi’s jaw dropped. “W-w-what?! Why  _ me?” _

Mister Wolf closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “I do not know.” Mister Wolf reopened his eyes and fixed Kiyoshi with what was  _ probably _ supposed to be a reassuring look. “The Fang chose  _ you _ ,” he repeated quietly. “I do not know why. The Fang always chooses those who are lost. Those who have no purpose.” 

Mister Wolf extended his hand, palm up. “If you are lost, then you may choose to accept this power and burden. If you wish for a peaceful life, then I suggest you decline.” He closed his hand into a fist, and let it fall to his lap. “But if you accept, I will make you into a peerless shinobi.”

Mister Wolf rose from where he was seated, closed the lid of the box, and placed it back in the corner with his other belongings. He strode to the door, opened it, then looked back. “Give it some thought.” Mister Wolf then left the room.

For a while, Kiyoshi sat there, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. As he stared at the wall, eyes glazing over, he came to the realization that his life would never be normal again.

He would have cried, were he not so utterly overwhelmed and  _ tired _ . As it was, he simply sat there, alone.

-x-x-x-

Wolf was unsure if he had handled his conversation with Kiyoshi well or not, but he had always been bad with people; he suspected that his—that  _ Owl _ had made sure that he was far better at the more martial side of being a shinobi so that he would isolate himself, would naturally become dependant on Owl. So that he would _ belong to _ Owl.

Whatever the case had been, though, Owl could not have accounted for Lord Kuro. Kind, accepting, doting Lord Kuro. Somehow, that warmhearted boy had been more a parent to Wolf than Owl had ever been, at least where it had mattered.

It was almost laughable; Wolf’s duty had been to watch over Lord Kuro, to take care of him, but  _ he  _ had ended up the one most changed by their contract. And that was not even considering the Dragon’s Blood that Lord Kuro had bestowed upon him, a boon and a bane in equal measure…

Wolf blinked. He hadn’t engaged in reminiscence like this in a long,  _ long  _ time. He supposed it was a result of recounting his tale to Kiyoshi. Nonetheless, the nostalgia of reaching back so far into those memories...he didn’t hate the feeling.

Regardless, he supposed he ought to send a message to Ubuyashiki. Even if one left aside the fact that he’d likely be taking on a successor, news that one of Muzan’s most powerful demons, an  _ Upper Moon _ , had become so bold would surely be of some note to the man.

Wolf made his way up from the basement of the clinic and outside the building, before bringing his hand to his mouth and letting out a piercing whistle.

A few moments passed, and then Wolf felt a pair of taloned feet alight on his shoulder. A dim blue glow illuminated the night as Owl’s familiar, Sanzashi, received his message and then vanished in a flash of bluish fire.

For whatever reason, his father had not brought the ghostly owl with him when he’d confronted Wolf atop Ashina Castle. When Owl died, the bond to the spirit had passed to Wolf, though he was far from as connected to it, far from as  _ respected _ by it, as Owl had been. It deigned to carry his messages, but it would not answer his call in battle, would not fight at his side like it had done eagerly for his father.

Apparitions were troublesome things, Wolf reflected, even when they weren’t explicitly hostile to the living.

-x-x-x-

Tamayo and Yushiro sat opposite one another in the training room, the broken dummy forgotten for the moment. Yushiro looked anywhere but at Tamayo, his face contorted into a troubled expression.

Tamayo frowned. “Yushiro...why did you not tell me that you felt this way? That you believe your presence here means nothing to me?”

Yushiro flinched. “I...I did not wish to trouble you, Lady Tamayo. You have done so much for me, and your work is so very important to you...my troubles are unimportant, compared to that.”

Tamayo raised a hand to cup Yushiro’s face tenderly. “Oh, Yushiro…” The tender caress abruptly changed to a pinching grip on his cheek; not so tight as to cause pain, but tight  _ enough _ . She tugged on it as she spoke. “Do not say such things. Even if you believe that your troubles are unimportant,  _ you are precious to me. _ You  _ chose  _ to stay by my side after I turned you into a demon, and your companionship means the world to me.”

She released his cheek and let her hand fall to his shoulder. “Do not think that the fact that I cannot accept your feelings as I am means that you are any less important to me, Yushiro.  _ You are family. _ ”

Yushiro inhaled sharply, and wetness gathered in the corners of his eyes. “L-Lady Tamayo…!” His voice choked off as he reached up and clasped her hand in his, shoulders shaking as he held back tears. Tamayo, rather than saying anything, merely reached up with her other hand and took his other hand in hers. 

The two sat there for what felt like hours, no longer doctor and assistant nor mistress and devotee. For that time, they were merely two people, taking solace in one another’s presence.

And for now, that was enough.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The better part of two days had passed since Wolf had sent Sanzashi with his message to Ubuyashiki, and as the sun began to set on the eve of the second, the spectral bird returned in a flash of azure flame, a scroll clenched in one talon, a sheathed katana in the other. Wolf accepted both packages without a word, merely nodding his thanks to Owl’s former familiar. Sanzashi gave a prideful hoot and vanished once more.

Wolf set the weapon aside for the moment, and unfurled the scroll. 

_ Venerable Wolf, I hope this letter finds you well. _

_ I must say, your familiar took one of my children by great surprise when it came to visit. Dear Gyomei would have slain it had I not stopped him and explained the situation to him. He was most surprised to learn that there was a human who had lived from the end of the Sengoku era all the way until now. Even I sometimes struggle to comprehend how long you have been alive, and the Ubuyashiki have kept the secret of your existence ever since the last of the Ashina married into our family nearly three centuries ago. _

_ But I digress. It is well that you found your successor in young Kiyoshi, though I do wish it had been under joyful circumstances, rather than among tragedy. It is far too common that those who oppose the dark are those who have had things most precious snatched from them by that dark, though I suppose it stands as a testament to the tenacity of humankind. _

_ I was surprised that you asked for the aid of the Demon Slayer Corps in the training of your successor, as the path of the shinobi is very different from that of the swordsman. Nonetheless, I have sent the Nichirin blade you requested with your familiar, and also enclosed the location of one of my Cultivators.  _

_ I cannot promise that Jigoro Kuwajima will take on young Kiyoshi as a student, as he just took on a second disciple a few months past. With what you detailed in your message, however...I will trust your judgment on the unique traits of your brand of training, and shall advise Jigoro to expect contact within the next month or so. _

_ Respectfully, _

_ Kagaya Ubuyashiki _

_ PS: Give Miss Tamayo my regards, would you? I would very much like to meet her once more before I am rendered incapable of traveling. _

Wolf set the letter to one side, and picked up the katana. He drew it a few centimeters from its scabbard and examined the blade. It glimmered with an unearthly sheen, simultaneously quite similar and oh-so-different from the sheen of the lazulite weapons the Sculptor had aided him in crafting for the Shinobi Fang. The blade’s coloration was a bluish grey, though Wolf hadn’t the first clue about the meanings of the different colors that the Color Changing Swords could take...even if a faint memory whispered in the back of his mind…

Before he could grasp the memory, though, the sliding door behind him opened. Wolf didn’t need to turn around to know that it way Kiyoshi, but he reminded himself to look back all the same; people tended to be less nervous when you looked at them before addressing them.

Kiyoshi sat down beside Wolf, and for a while there was silence as the duo watched the sunset. As the last traces of orange began to fade to deep purple, and then black, Kiyoshi spoke quietly. “Will I become strong, if I say yes? Strong enough to protect people from demons?”

Wolf gazed at Kiyoshi for a long moment. He could tell that protecting people was not the only thing Kiyoshi wanted to be strong for, but neither was he lying about wanting to be a protector.

The ancient shinobi chose his words carefully. “Your strength will be up to your will. I cannot teach strength. I can only teach  _ skill _ .” Wolf’s dark eyes met Kiyoshi’s bright ones. “If you follow my teachings and never give in, you will surpass me tenfold.

_ “That, I swear on the name of my Lord, Kuro.” _

* * *

**AN: Sorry that this was a bit late, folks. I had a rough weekend and was working on another project, besides. No, this ** ** _totally_ ** ** isn’t a shill for collaborative Fate/Apocrypha Dual SI with Lord Trent Blackmore, whatever are you talking about? XV**


	6. Chapter 5: Cultivation

Chapter 5: Cultivation

The following morning, Kiyoshi was gently shaken from his slumber by Miss Tamayo as dawn began to break, and after a quick—but filling—breakfast, he was brought back into the clinic, where Mister Wolf was seated on the floor, running a small knife down a length of wood. At his side lay a carved  _ bokken, _ though one longer than the length of wood Mister Wolf was carving, and Kiyoshi understood. 

As Miss Tamayo sat him down on a stool, unwrapped his bandages, and cleaned off the still-raw flesh of his arm, she looked up at him with concern in her glassy eyes. “Because your arm has healed over since the amputation, I will have to make a number of incisions to attach the prosthetic.” She spared Mister Wolf a glance, who was steadily carving the second wooden sword. 

“Wolf claims that the prosthetic will account for that, and that the attaching parts will  _ burrow _ —” she said the word with distaste, “—into your arm, but I think it would be best to avoid such an…” Miss Tamayo paused, seeming to search for a suitable adjective. “Such an  _ inelegant _ solution.

“That said, there will be quite a lot of blood. Would you prefer to be put to sleep for the procedure? I have a technique that can put you to sleep painlessly, or I can administer an anesthetic that will put you under.”

Kiyoshi thought on this for about a minute, then shook his head. “I watched that _ ... _ that _ thing _ eat my mother,” he said quietly. “There wasn’t blood, but nothing will ever be as bad as that.” He looked up, face pale but resolute. “I’ll stay awake.”

Tamayo gazed at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I will still administer a local anesthetic,” she said, turning to a tray and selecting a large needle filled with a clear liquid before turning back to him.

“You will feel a sting, and then your arm will go numb. This way, you will not have to endure the feeling of the prosthetic fusing to your nerves, flesh, and bone,” Miss Tamayo said gently.

In spite of his resolve, Kiyoshi shivered slightly at her words, then sucked in a breath as the sharp pain of the needle entering his arm tore his attention away from the gruesome description. After what felt like an hour but was probably only a minute or so, Miss Tamayo pulled away, setting the now-empty needle aside and dabbing at the spot she’d jabbed with a small cloth. As she cleaned his arm, she spoke again. 

“It will take a short while for the anesthesia to set in, and then we will be able to proceed with attaching the prosthetic.” 

And so time passed slowly, the only thing breaking the monotony being the repetitive, almost soothing sound of metal scraping wood. As time passed, Kiyoshi noticed his arm becoming less responsive, until eventually he couldn’t even move it, or feel Miss Tamayo poking it. 

Bereft of anything else to do, he closed his eyes and felt for his own Chi. Immediately, he noticed that the points and channels of light that would usually run down his arm had faded to almost embers. More oddly, though, he noticed that a number of those lights that ought to have been absent  _ weren’t _ : namely, the ones corresponding to the part of his left arm that he’d lost.

Kiyoshi’s brow furrowed as he reopened his eyes. He’d have to ask Mister Wolf about that; if anyone knew, it’d probably be him.

Once Kiyoshi couldn’t feel his arm at all, Miss Tamayo elevated it on a small table covered with a cloth. As he looked on, the procedure began.

At about the point where his stump was beginning to resemble an artfully peeled persimmon, Kiyoshi had a thought.

_ ‘Maybe I should’ve asked for the sleep after all…’ _

About an hour and a half later, a decisive  _ click _ signalled the end of the procedure. The Shinobi Fang had accepted him as its new wielder, and the incisions were sealed off with gauze and bandages.

…

It honestly felt a bit anticlimactic, Kiyoshi thought as Mister—no, he was  _ Master _ Wolf now—led him outside. Here was this miraculous tool of magic and medicine that had waited the better part of  _ three centuries _ to be wielded by him, and all it had taken was an injection, some cuts, and a bit of finagling. Where was the ceremony? Where was the  _ weight _ ?

When he voiced these thoughts to Master Wolf, the old shinobi gave an amused snort. “Magic or not,” he said gruffly, “a tool is a tool.”

Kiyoshi didn’t know it then, but that utilitarian attitude would soon become a mantra, drilled into his mind during the coming years of training. 

-x-x-x-

The first thing Master Wolf taught Kiyoshi was of the value of tools. Tools may not have required ritual and ceremony, but they certainly needed  _ care _ , and the Shinobi Fang was no exception. If one did not care for their tools, they were sure to fail or break, and if such a thing happened mid-combat, it could very well spell death.

And so it was that the first four weeks of Kiyoshi’s training was nothing but learning to perform maintenance on the Shinobi Fang, first with all the tools he’d have available at a smithy and then with only the ones he could feasibly carry with him in the field.

Well,  _ almost _ nothing but that. In the evening hours, when the shadows grew long and the sun began to sink behind the trees ringing Miss Tamayo’s garden, Master Wolf taught Kiyoshi of meditation, of deepening his connection to his own Chi, and of the nuances that one can sense within the Chi of others. It was a slow process, especially given Master Wolf’s self-admitted lack of formal training, but progress was made nonetheless.

The last couple of hours before he retired for the night were his own, and he alternated between reading one of Miss Tamayo’s numerous books and learning about medicine and the body from her.

As the second month began, Master Wolf informed Kiyoshi that they would be training differently for the next few months. He tossed Kiyoshi the same short  _ bokken _ he had seen the day the Fang was passed to him, and drew the training blade’s longer twin from his sash.

Their mornings would be spent on basic combat training, both armed and unarmed. After breaking for lunch they would begin work on the Fang’s various attachments; first maintaining them and then learning their use. Evenings would still be spent on meditation and Chi sensing, though Kiyoshi quickly learned that Master Wolf’s definition of “meditation” included more than just passively sitting and centering oneself.

_ “Calmness. Focus. Alertness. A meditating shinobi must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.” _

And Master Wolf certainly hammered that point home with firm intent, though never with cruelty. If Kiyoshi could not react in time, he’d get a firm bonk on the head from either Master Wolf’s  _ bokken _ or from his fist. Even if it smarted something fierce, it sure did help him remember to keep alert at all times.

Sore forehead aside, by the end of that month, Kiyoshi felt...not  _ stronger _ , per se, but more  _ able _ than he was at the beginning of his training. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, but even the slight progress felt... _ nice. _

-x-x-x-

Wolf was not a man given to extreme displays of emotion, but had he been, the weathered shinobi suspected that he’d have been walking around wide-eyed for much of the past two months. 

For a boy raised in this more peaceful time, Kiyoshi took to his training like he was born for it. He’d learned how to disassemble, reassemble, and properly clean all of the minute mechanisms that made up the Fang at a frankly shocking pace,  _ especially  _ considering his successor-to-be had not imbibed the tincture he and Emma had dubbed the “Shura Agent”.

And he never would, if Wolf had anything to say about it. Certainly, the benefits to utilizing the potion were many and considerable...but the sweeter the fruit, the deadlier the poison. The dark being behind the curse of Shura wouldn’t have been able to propagate its influence half as quickly if partaking of its power was not a lucrative temptation.

But it was not worth it. Wolf had  _ seen _ what Shura had done to the Sculptor, had  _ felt _ Shura’s tantalizing whispers in his ears—still felt them, even now. He could not,  _ would  _ not, allow Kiyoshi to endure the same.

Wolf would be the last bearer of Shura, and good riddance to that infernal legacy.

That said, his successor-to-be would still need a means to fight at a level beyond that of a human, which was where the Cultivator named Jigoro Kuwajima came into play. Not only was the elderly man a former Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps, one of their mightiest swordsmen, but he also lived only a few days walk away from where Tamayo had set up her hideaway.

(Yushiro was  _ quite _ concerned when he found out, but Tamayo had managed to calm him down.)

So it was that on the first day of May, just over two months after their training had begun, Wolf informed Kiyoshi that they would be making a trip the next morning, and suggested he pack sufficient clothing for a week’s absence. Kiyoshi dutifully did as he was instructed, and the two set out the next morning, just as dawn broke.

They traveled at a brisk pace, with Wolf periodically flicking pebbles at Kiyoshi to make sure that he was keeping alert. Judging from the fact that he either evaded or swatted away every single one of them, even those that had come from behind, Wolf’s lessons were still fresh in his mind.

Huh _ . _ So  _ that _ was what being proud of someone felt like. It was an unfamiliar feeling to Wolf, but by no means an unpleasant one.

Despite this mid-travel training, the duo made good pace, and aside from stopping for a brief lunch and short series of combat drills their travels were uninterrupted. Once night began to fall and Kiyoshi began to yawn, they stopped. Rather than setting up camp, though, Wolf merely hoisted Kiyoshi onto his back and secured him there with a couple of sturdy lengths of cloth. 

“I don’t need sleep,” Wolf grunted. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

Kiyoshi merely nodded sleepily against Wolf’s back and loosely closed his arms around Wolf’s neck. Quickly enough, Kiyoshi’s breathing slowed and he fell asleep.

Now that Kiyoshi was asleep, Wolf could increase his pace considerably. He couldn’t move at his maximum speeds, of course; the high speed would hurt his charge. But he  _ could _ make the rest of the journey well before dawn easily.

And make that journey he did, though judging by the way Jigoro Kuwajima’s bushy eyebrows were furrowed in a tired scowl, Wolf should’ve probably staggered his journey so that he  _ didn’t _ arrive at half past midnight. Thankfully, though, Kuwajima nonetheless let him in, stroking his impressive moustache and muttering something under his breath about “kids these days” before waving him over to where a couple of futons sat in a corner. Needless to say, Wolf found the man’s comment rather amusing, though nobody would’ve been able to tell based on his facial expression.

...Except Lord Kuro. Lord Kuro had always possessed the uncanny ability to know what Wolf was thinking and feeling, even when Wolf  _ himself _ was unsure. 

Wolf shook his head at himself. It did no good to linger on the past, not now. Not when there was a future generation to be trained. He padded silently over to the futons and set about removing Kiyoshi from his back and tucking him into bed. Once he was done, he seated himself on the futon that had been provided for him, pulled out a small block of wood, his carving knife, and a sheet to catch his shavings, and began to carve.

...Wolf  _ swore  _ he could hear Shura hissing in frustration at the back of his mind.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When Kiyoshi woke up the next morning, he was surprised to find himself in a futon rather than on Master Wolf’s back. As he sat up, he took note of three Chi signatures other than Master Wolf’s and his own. Two were dim and laying down a couple rooms over, likely the two disciples of the Cultivator they’d come to visit. 

The third was small, but dense, brilliant, and quickly approaching the room he was in. As the Chi signature that could only be the Cultivator, Jigoro Kuwajima, approached their room, the finer details of his Chi took shape. Where Master Wolf’s Chi took the form of a living Sword of Damocles (he’d learned  _ that _ term from one of Miss Tamayo’s Western books), Mister Kuwajima’s Chi was lightning in the shape of a sleeping, but still deadly, tiger.

Kiyoshi came back to himself abruptly and turned towards his teacher, mouth open to speak. At that very moment, however, his stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he’d skipped dinner the night prior.

This prompted a hearty chuckle from the short old man who’d  _ just _ arrived at the doorway to their room. “Sounds like you could use some breakfast. Kiyoshi, was it? Come on, then. I’ll wake the layabouts and we can eat.” Mister Kuwajima spared a glance at Master Wolf, who had what appeared to be a half-carved  _ jizo _ statue of some sort sitting in his lap.

Wolf grunted an answer to the unasked question. “I am fasting; do not worry yourself about feeding me.”

Technically a lie, but Kiyoshi had a feeling that Master Wolf being a three-hundred and fifty year-old shinobi from the Sengoku period was...how had that mystery book put it...ah, right. “Privileged information.”

In any case, Mister Kuwajima accepted the excuse with a nod and left the room. Not even a minute later, the house seemed to shake with a loud yell, one full of what Kiyoshi could tell was fake anger and very real amusement.

“Get UP, you lazy brats! Don’t make me get my cane again!”

...Mister Kuwajima was a much more lively teacher than Master Wolf or Miss Tamayo.

About half an hour later, Kiyoshi knelt in  _ seiza _ at a table, with the two disciples kneeling similarly to either side of him. Both had black hair, but that was where the similarities ended. 

The first couldn’t have been older than six, and had a downtrodden, nervous expression on his face. Kiyoshi had seen kids like him before, and he knew they were usually the target for bullies. When he felt for the younger boy’s Chi, his heart clenched. He’d never felt this sort of emotion coming from somebody’s Chi before, but it was  _ awful _ . He quickly pulled his Chi away from the younger boy and looked to the older one.

The second boy, who looked to be about his age, had a sharp, angry gaze, and the moment Kiyoshi met his eyes, he let out a huff and looked away. When Kiyoshi reached for  _ his _ Chi, he immediately snapped his inner “eye” closed. It wasn’t anywhere as bad as  _ that thing’s _ , but the elder disciple’s Chi was a  _ writhing _ mass of hate, spite, jealousy and arrogance.

Thankfully, before Kiyoshi’s thoughts could show on his face, Mister Kuwajima entered the dining area carrying a tray of food. He distributed generous helpings of  _ furikake  _ egg rice, grilled fish and miso soup, among other dishes. After a brief round of introductions, they all settled in to eat.

The meal was delicious, and Kiyoshi said as much after they all finished. Mister Kuwajima seemed pleased at the compliment, and when the younger boy, who was named Zenitsu, chimed in with “Gramps’ food is the best!”, his scolding to “call him Master” failed to conceal Mister Kuwajima’s happiness at being complimented.

The older boy, Kaigaku, just growled and walked outside, grabbing up a sheathed katana from a barrel beside the door as he exited. Zenitsu’s face fell, and Mister Kuwajima sighed.

“Please forgive Kaigaku,” Mister Kuwajima requested quietly. “He’s a good boy, deep down; he’s just had a hard life.”

Kiyoshi decided to keep his thoughts about  _ that _ to himself.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Full Focus Breathing, Kiyoshi decided, was one of the most amazing things he’d ever seen in his life. Oh, sure, the lightning that was flung from Mister Kuwajima’s blade wasn’t  _ real _ lightning, but it was impressive nonetheless. But as flashy and incredible as that was, what interested Kiyoshi even more was how his Chi circulated through his body and enhanced his movements, strengthened his strikes so that they could shear through  _ stone _ .

No matter how impressive the Breath of Thunder was, however, Master Wolf almost immediately recognized that it wasn’t quite right for him – and when he’d explained why to Kiyoshi, he agreed. (Albeit with some amount of disappointment at not being able to shoot Chi-lightning from his sword).

Simply put, none of the existing Breath styles really suited a shinobi, because all of those styles were made for  _ swordsmen _ . However, the speed and unpredictability of the Breath of Thunder made it the best style for Kiyoshi to start with, as the man Mister Kuwajima called “the Master” had apparently predicted.

Therefore, Kiyoshi would have to study the Breath of Thunder, deconstruct it into its constituent components, and then reassemble it into something different by adding the components Master Wolf was teaching him.

During the first week at Mister Kuwajima’s house, Kiyoshi alternated between carefully observing Zenitsu and Kaigaku’s training and being trained himself by Master Wolf. During the brief times of respite, Kiyoshi tried to socialize with Mister Kuwajima’s disciples.

Kaigaku outright refused to interact with him, saying that he “had no time for touchy-feely baby talk,” and that “if he wanted to change diapers so bad he could talk to the crybaby”.

Kiyoshi was distinctly unamused by Kaigaku’s abrasive behavior, but decided to take him up on his “advice” anyways. The youngest disciple was sure to be better company than he was.

…

Zenitsu Agatsuma was honestly a handful. After spending more time with the panicky boy, Kiyoshi had been able to identify that sickly, cloying emotion that seeped through Zenitsu’s Chi; it was  _ hate _ . But unlike Kaigaku, whose hatred was directed at anything and everything around him, Zenitsu’s was centered on a single target:  _ himself _ . Kiyoshi had  _ no _ idea how to help Zenitsu, no matter how much he might’ve wanted to. All he could do was spend time with the younger boy and try to be positive, so that’s what he did.

Of course, neither Master Wolf nor Mister Kuwajima afforded them much time for resting, so Kiyoshi wasn’t able to spend much time with Zenitsu. Even so, he made what time he could.

A single week went by in a flash, and all too soon it was time to bid Mister Kuwajima and Zenitsu farewell. Kiyoshi would’ve said goodbye to Kaigaku too (he’d been raised with  _ manners _ after all), but the angry boy hadn’t showed up at all. The look on Mister Kuwajima’s face made Kiyoshi think that Kaigaku would regret that decision.

Of course, this wasn’t a permanent farewell; a single week was nowhere near enough time for Kiyoshi to learn even the basics of Full Focus Breathing, never mind the Breath of Thunder. Master Wolf and Mister Kuwajima had decided on a week of training once every month until Kiyoshi managed to develop his own Breath style, a process that could take anywhere from six months to a  _ decade _ , depending on the person.

Kiyoshi hoped it wouldn’t take him a decade. That would be an  _ awful _ long time to spend training, when he could be hunti—could be  _ protecting  _ people from demons. When he voiced this concern to Master Wolf, the old shinobi offered a halfhearted shrug and said, “It will take as long as it takes.” 

Perhaps Master Wolf had seen the disappointment on his face, because he’d then added, “I doubt it will take that long. You are...dedicated. That means a great deal.”

Hearing actual praise from Master Wolf, who barely  _ ever _ spoke about his progress, meant a lot to Kiyoshi. Over the next months, he doubled and redoubled his efforts, learning how to use two of the Fang’s tools in combat: the Axe and the Spear. Additionally, Master Wolf and he started sparring with real blades rather than  _ bokken _ .

As the seasons changed, from Spring to Summer, then to Autumn, then finally to Winter, Kiyoshi grew several centimeters, and so too did the Fang change in length to adjust. His body became leaner, shedding baby-fat in favor of compact muscle, and his ash-grey hair grew long enough that he had to pull it back in a topknot mirroring his master’s own hairstyle.

Over those months Kiyoshi grew closer to Zenitsu, and it seemed like the boy was starting to come out of his shell, little by little. Kaigaku, on the other hand, seemed more distant than ever. Kiyoshi was beginning to believe that they’d never get along, especially with how Kaigaku treated Zenitsu. 

If all Kaigaku did to Zenitsu was ignore him, that would be one thing, but the elder disciple constantly berated and abused the younger. It turned Kiyoshi’s stomach, and as much as he  _ tried _ to see the same good in Kaigaku that Mister Kuwajima did, he simply couldn’t.

...On the bright side, Kiyoshi thought he was on the verge of a breakthrough in developing his own Breath style, so that was...nice.

-x-x-x-

Of course, as with all good things, Wolf and Kiyoshi’s training  _ had  _ to be interrupted. 

It happened out of nowhere, one cold Winter’s afternoon. Wolf and Kiyoshi were just returning from their monthly trip to Kuwajima’s home, but as they drew closer to Tamayo’s hideaway, they both quickly became able to tell that the air was  _ wrong _ . 

_ The smell of smoke was in the air. _

As master and disciple rushed into the clearing that housed Tamayo’s garden, they saw that her house was aflame. Silhouetted by the fires was a tall figure, black-hooded and wearing a cloth mask of the same colour over their mouth. Indeed, the only spot of color on their body was a royal purple cloth that hung over one shoulder like a cape. The hilt of a blade stuck up over one shoulder, but Wolf could make out a couple of knives strapped to their hip, with more doubtlessly concealed elsewhere on their person.

The figure turned towards them as they approached, then spoke. “So this is the famed ‘Sekiro’, huh?” He (for it was a male voice, however muffled) cupped his chin with a gloved hand, looked Wolf up and down, then seemed to come to a decision.

_ “I’m not impressed.” _


	7. Chapter 6: Silhouettes Against The Fire

Chapter 6: Silhouettes Against The Fire

Before the mocking words had even finished leaving the stranger’s mouth, Kusabimaru was already bare in Wolf’s hand. The whisper of steel behind him told Wolf that Kiyoshi had followed suit.

Wolf recognized the garb of this foe all too well; how could he not? He’d slain numerous members of the Lone Shadow sect on _ that _ day. The day he’d come closer than ever before to Shura.

The day he’d wiped the Interior Ministry from the face of the earth.

Apparently he had not managed the same with their lapdogs...

“Go!” Wolf barked at Kiyoshi, jerking his head at the burning house. “This one is beyond you.” 

“Yes sir,” Kiyoshi replied, already running towards the blaze. Wolf knew that if Kiyoshi could find Tamayo, one of her Blood Demon Arts could turn the battle he was about to fight into nothing more than an execution.

Unfortunately, his opponent seemed to realize this as well, and let out a shrill whistle. A smaller figure dressed in similar garb to the enemy shinobi leapt from the trees and sprinted after Kiyoshi. 

Wolf darted forward, Kusabimaru flashing out at the second shinobi’s back...only for steel to meet steel as the first shinobi’s blade intercepted his own. In the next instant, the black-clad stranger’s knee slammed into his ribs, brutally forcing him back a step.

“Your opponent is _ me _,” hissed the man, brandishing his sword. “Come, Sekiro!”

In the next instant, the Lone Shadow was on him, his sword and body whirling in a chaotic dance Wolf was all too familiar with. Where his foe was a twister, Wolf was as a reed, remaining stationary but not immobile. He met each strike with efficient, minimalistic movements even as his foe did his level best to attack each and every one of Wolf’s openings.

This unequal dance continued for perhaps ten seconds, before the Lone Shadow kicked off the ground and disengaged, putting space between them. Wolf took this as his opportunity to strike, Kusabimaru cleaving the air between them with decisive intent.

Such was the force of Wolf’s swing that it rent the air itself asunder, unleashing a blade of wind that was thin as paper but harder than steel. 

(Of course, this was a far cry from what Isshin Ashina’s _ Dragon Flash _ technique could really do, but without the use of both arms, Wolf could only do so much.)

However…

Blood sprayed from the Lone Shadow’s chest as the stroke struck true. The cut was wide but shallow; if they weren’t in the midst of battle, the cut would’ve been child’s play to clean and bandage.

But they _ were _ in the midst of battle, and Wolf _ certainly _ wasn’t going to give an enemy shinobi a moment to rest, let alone time to lick his wounds.

Wolf exhaled, and then _ flew _, the orange-gold of the sunset at his back.

-x-x-x-

The moment Kiyoshi rounded the corner of the burning house to Miss Tamayo’s backyard, he spun, sword coming up to meet the descending blade of his pursuer. Even as he turned aside the blow, he leapt back and studied his opponent.

Based on body size alone, the black-clad shinobi couldn’t have been but a few years older than Kiyoshi himself. Likely the disciple of the shinobi Master Wolf was facing, then.

“Why?!” Kiyoshi demanded heatedly, gesturing to the burning house with his blade. “Why would you do this!?”

The cloaked shinobi-in-training gave a scoff, then replied, “Father wanted to fight the one called Sekiro. As Father’s greatest tool, it is not for me to _ question _ , only to _ obey _ .” The youth pointed at Kiyoshi with his sword. “As for you? _ You _ are unnecessary. Die.” 

As the words left his mouth, the black-clad boy let his sword fall from his hand, sinking point-first into the soil. He made a clawed, swiping motion with both hands, crossing his arms mid-forearm before snapping his hands to his sides and clenching them into fists.

Invisible fingers wrapped around Kiyoshi’s throat as his foe almost _ purred _ , _ “Ninja Art: Strangling Shadows.” _

Kiyoshi began to panic as his arms locked into place, paralysed by this shinobi’s unknown technique. His sword fell from nerveless fingers as he gasped for air that simply would not come. 

Eyes bulging from their sockets, veins protruding and fit to burst, vision going white…

_ Kiyoshi was going to die. _

_ ‘I don’t want to die! I haven’t avenged Mother yet! I haven’t paid back what I owe yet!’ _ Even as his vision began to darken, Kiyoshi felt tears begin to build at the corner of his eyes, and struggled even harder against—

_ Wait. _

Struggle?

With the last bit of oxygen in his brain, an idea began to take shape in Kiyoshi’s mind. If he was right…

No. He _ had _ to be right. If he wasn’t, he was already dead. So, Kiyoshi went for it. With all his might, Kyoshi _ pushed _ on the Shinobi Fang. With an unpleasant grinding noise, the axe attachment sprang from the back of the arm, biting through invisible bindings and landing in the palm of Kiyoshi’s now-mobile left hand.

With frantic, desperate abandon, Kiyoshi hacked at the air. The axe’s gleaming azure head found purchase once, twice, _ thrice _ as he slashed away the bindings on his other arm and neck, scooping up his sword the moment he was free.

And not a moment too soon! As soon as the stranger noticed Kiyoshi was free, he’d darted forward, blade arcing to open his throat. 

Red-faced with both anger and strangulation, Kiyoshi brought his own sword up to intercept the strike, pushing the blade’s tip into the dirt before bringing his axe down on the length of his opponent’s blade.

However fine the steel might have been, his opponent’s weapon was a katana. His axe, on the other hand, was edged with something Master Wolf had called “Lazulite”, a sacred ore of the heavens.

The sword splintered beneath the axe blow like so much dried kindling.

Even as his weapon was being destroyed, the enemy shinobi was leaping backwards and drawing a pair of _ wakizashi _ from the small of his back. Instinct took over, axe spun aside to make room for the spear in the Shinobi Fang, and Kiyoshi followed his opponent with a lightning-quick, spiralling thrust.

As steel bit into soft tissue then wrenched free, blood and bile spilled forth from the deep wound that the spear had gouged. Kiyoshi seemed to come back to himself then. The stench of blood and feces was overwhelming, and he doubled over, vomiting into the grass.

“_ Weak _ ,” a shaky voice rasped, and Kiyoshi looked up in time to see the mortally wounded shinobi-in-training standing over him, _ wakizashi _ raised. He was swaying drunkenly and was clearly on his last legs, but that was cold comfort as the blade descended towards his neck.

Kiyoshi raised his arm to intercept the stab, but his foe was just too _ fast _ _ — _

_ “Blood Demon Art: Blood Bewitchment - Perfume of the Fringed Orchid.” _

-x-x-x-

As one, Kiyoshi and the shinobi fell unconscious. As the sun finally fell behind the trees, Tamayo and Yushiro emerged from a trapdoor behind the burning house, soot-stained but unharmed by the blaze. Yushiro immediately went to the stranger’s side and checked his gut wound.

“It’s fatal, Lady Tamayo. Even if you were to offer him the same treatment you did me, he would not survive the process.”

Tamayo, who was checking over Kiyoshi’s injuries with great care, nodded. “Do not let him suffer,” Tamayo instructed sadly as her fingers brushed the thin bruises on Kiyoshi’s throat. “Steel wire? Hmm.”

Yushiro nodded, then bent down to grasp either side of the unconscious shinobi’s head.

A sickening _ crack _ echoed in the night.

After secreting Kiyoshi away in the underground room where they’d taken refuge, Tamayo directed Yushiro to go assist Wolf if the man needed it. Yushiro considered protesting, loathe as he was to leave Tamayo alone, but he acquiesced. He knew it was necessary.

After pausing for a moment to apply his Blindfold technique, Yushiro made his way to the front of their home. He spared a sad glance at the conflagration as a wall fell, no longer able to remain standing as its supports burned away. 

As Yushiro ran into the front yard, he was treated to the sight of Wolf stabbing their intruder (and arsonist) through the chest, tearing his blade free as he vaulted over the cloaked man, then stabbing him through the chest _ again _, this time from behind.

-x-x-x-

As Wolf pushed the Lone Shadow off of Kusabimaru, he frowned. That...had_ not _ been a fight between shinobi. It had been a fight between _ swordsmen _, and that was wrong.

As he positioned his blade over the Lone Shadow’s heart, his senses flared and he threw himself backwards. And not a moment too soon, either; in the next instance, the nameless shinobi had ripped off his left glove and slammed a hand glowing a familiar noxious green into the ground.

A cloud of vile, toxic, _ Chi infused _ smoke erupted around the shinobi, clouding him from both vision and supernatural sensing. As he escaped, the Lone Shadow left Wolf with one parting shot.

_ “I underestimated you, Sekiro. On my name, Hanzou the Blinding Knife, last head of the Lone Shadows, I swear that I won’t make that mistake a second time.” _

As the poisonous smoke cleared, Wolf looked at Yushiro, a question in his eyes. Yushiro dissolved his technique before he confirmed, “Kiyoshi is alive. Unconscious and suffering from strangulation, but alive.” Yushiro then winced. “Physical injuries aside...he’s been blooded, and in a messy way.”

Wolf raised his eyebrows.

“He speared the other shinobi through the stomach,” Yushiro explained, forcing himself to be clinically detached. He’d do nobody any good if his worry for the young man who had come into his and Tamayo’s lives kept him from being efficient.

“One of the messiest and most visceral wounds to inflict,” Yushiro continued, “and he was already on the verge of a panic attack from the strangulation. I do not know what his mental state will be like when he wakes, but I know he will need our support.” He locked eyes with Wolf. “_ All _ of our support.”

Wolf gave a grunt and nodded. Yushiro motioned for him to follow, and so he did, rubbing a worn, stained cloth along Kusabimaru’s bloodstained blade as he walked.

As they passed the corpse of the second shinobi, Wolf inspected the wound. As Yushiro had indicated, the wound was deep, gruesome and vile-smelling.

For _ this _ to be his disciple’s first kill...Wolf was concerned, to say the least.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_ “Father! You’ve returned! But...where is Danzou?” _

_ “He broke, so I left him behind.” _

_ “...But...he...” _

_ “Remember this, boy. A broken tool isn’t worth a goddamn thing. It’s up to you, now. All of your other siblings broke. Don’t disappoint me, Tengen.” _

_ “...Understood, father.” _

* * *

**AN: I know this chapter’s a bit short, but worry not! There’ll be an interlude posted in a few days.**


	8. Interlude: Thunderclap

Interlude: Thunderclap

Zenitsu Agatsuma was a coward. He knew it, Gramps knew it, and his senior disciple Kaigaku knew it. He was also unstable, unreliable, a crybaby...

He could list his flaws for days, but the point was that he  _ hated  _ himself. Hated how weak he was, how he could never seem to improve no matter how hard he tried. And oh,  _ how  _ he had tried. For every hour Gramps trained Kaigaku and him, he trained another hour on his own, often foregoing sleep entirely in a desperate attempt to show that he  _ wasn’t _ worthless, that Gramps deciding to train him  _ wasn’t _ a mistake.

But he did not improve, not in any way that he could see, and so he despaired. This, of course, made Kaigaku look down on him even more, made him  _ hate himself  _ even more. The violent beat of Kaigaku’s scorn and disgust was an ever-present, angry  _ taiko _ drum, and Zenitsu didn’t blame him. He deserved it.

But Gramps didn’t stop believing in him. The gentle song of sincerity and belief never left Gramps’ voice, even if Zenitsu didn’t deserve that belief.

_ But may the heavens damn him if he wouldn’t try to be worthy of it. _

...Of course, however much he might tell himself that, it didn’t make a lick of difference if he lacked the capacity to improve. And despite Gramps’ seemingly endless faith in him, that seemed to be the case.

-x-x-x-

So it was that Zenitsu Agatsuma swung between extremes like a demented metronome: one day enacting hairbrained schemes to escape (all of which were foiled), the next training vigorously under the watchful eye of Jigoro Kuwajima during the day, and sneaking out to do so once more at night.

His mood swings did not go unnoticed by Jigoro, but as much care as he had for Zenitsu, Jigoro was a man who had spent his entire life killing man-eating demons. Demons of the  _ physical _ realm, he could handle, but the demons of the psyche? Jigoro was truly at a loss.

That wasn’t to say that the former Roaring Pillar simply threw up his hands and said “I don’t know what to do, so it can’t be helped!” That was far from the truth. Jigoro did everything he could to help Zenitsu improve himself, though his methods were perhaps less gentle than Zenitsu might have liked.

Most of all, though, Jigoro believed in Zenitsu. He pushed him hard, because he_ truly _believed that Zenitsu had it in him to not only become a splendid Demon Slayer, but to surpass him as well.

Even so, Zenitsu’s progress was slow, slow enough that neither he nor Kaigaku could tell it was there. Jigoro saw it, though, and continued to push his students.

Then one day, in the Spring of the Meji era 1902, Jigoro received a letter from the Master, Kagaya Ubuyashiki. He was to assist a shinobi by the name of Wolf in training his disciple, as Wolf had no experience with Full Focus Breathing. Jigoro had his reservations about this, but he trusted the Master implicitly.

And his trust was well-placed, Jigoro found. Wolf was a man of few words and numerous incongruities, but despite this, Jigoro got along well enough with the quiet shinobi. Wolf’s manner of teaching was quite similar to Jigoro’s own, even if the subject matter of the lessons was, by necessity, quite different.

As for Kiyoshi...the boy wasn’t a prodigy like Kaigaku, but what he lacked in raw talent he more than made up for in hard work and enthusiasm. The boy had  _ drive _ , there was no doubt about that.

Jigoro thought that seeing this level of work ethic would help Zenitsu, at least a little. 

He wasn’t wrong about that, but Kiyoshi’s drive wasn’t the only thing that had an impact on Zenitsu.

-x-x-x-

At first, Zenitsu didn’t know  _ what _ to make of Kiyoshi. The older boy was so very different from Kaigaku, polite where his senior would be rude, calm where Kaigaku would be angry. At first glance, nothing seemed to bother Kiyoshi.

Upon close observation, that misunderstanding was easily put to rest. Zenitsu could certainly tell when the other boy was upset by Kaigaku’s behavior or lost in sad memories; the way his internal “song” shifted like a musician plucking one string or another of a  _ shamisen _ lute showed quite clearly that Kiyoshi had hidden depths. Even if he was able to put on an outwardly placid and polite face, Zenitsu could hear it.

He could hear the rage, the sorrow and the grief. But most of all, he could hear the  _ resolve _ . Zenitsu did not know Kiyoshi’s story, but the artificial, almost  _ karakuri _ limb that took the place of Kiyoshi’s left forearm spoke volumes of an uncertain past on its own. That, coupled with the ominous, ancient near-silence of Kiyoshi’s teacher, Mister Wolf…

There was a song of tragedy in the air around the duo, and Zenitsu didn’t think it was done with them in the slightest.

And yet! And yet, in spite of whatever those two had lost, whatever they still  _ had yet to lose _ , Kiyoshi at least found time to sit with Zenitsu, to talk with him. To sincerely encourage him.

(Mister Wolf didn’t do the same, but Zenitsu got the feeling that Mister Wolf wasn’t very good at dealing with any people, let alone kids.)

Even just Gramps encouraging him gave Zenitsu hope, but Kiyoshi as well? It was almost enough for him to delude himself into believing he really had a chance.

_ Almost _ .

But then Winter came and Kiyoshi didn’t return for months and months. Gramps said that their house had been burned down and they needed time to relocate, but Zenitsu couldn’t help but be afraid that he’d driven away the closest thing he had to a friend.

Rather than sink into a deep depression, though, Zenitsu swung once more to the opposite end of the metronome, farther and harder than he’d ever done before. He trained until his hands bled, and then kept training until he couldn’t even grip his sword, and  _ even then  _ kept practicing his Full Focus Breathing until he felt like his heart would burst.

No matter how hard he tried, though, Kaigaku seemed to get further and further ahead of him. This continued throughout the Winter until one day, in the Spring of the Meiji era 1903, the metronome  _ snapped _ . Zenitsu tossed down his Nichirin sword and ran away from training, something he’d never done before. 

He’d always respected Gramps too much to run away during training.

Zenitsu hadn’t had a plan for where he would go, so it wasn’t much surprise that Gramps found him quickly. He’d taken shelter in a tree, quivering, sobbing mess that he was. That was the day he’d confessed his fears and insecurities to Gramps, teetering on the edge of a panic-induced blackout.

Of course, because the life of Zenitsu Agatsuma was a tragicomedy, that was the moment that stormclouds rolled in at unnatural speed and lightning fell from the sky. In the moments between being struck and falling insensate from the tree like a stone, Zenitsu swore he heard the melodic laughter of a goddess even as his hair was burned a brilliant sunset blond by the lightning.

Thankfully, Gramps was there to catch his unconscious body, like he always was.

However, he was so focused on making sure Zenitsu was okay that he missed the tiny sparks of blue-white lightning that arced around the boy’s navel for a fleeting moment before sinking into his belly with a near-inaudible hum.


	9. Chapter 7: First Blood

Chapter 7: First Blood

It was an abyss.

Once more, Kiyoshi’s senses had been stolen from him, relegating him to a frontier of endless night. No ray of light reached his eyes, no whisper of wind touched his ears, no warmth of flame caressed his skin. 

And yet, he was still keenly, _ painfully _aware of the tendrils of black emotion that bound him, burrowed into him. It was almost too much to bear...

In the space between one second and the next, the blackness within _ and _without vanished, and before his now-working eyes stretched a long, winding path of cobblestone, vanishing into the distance of a pale white horizon. To either side of the road were vast expanses of water, continuing on into the distance further than the eye could see. Behind him, there was nothing but more water. Seeing no other options available, he started walking, a vague sense of unease hanging over him like a shroud.

A calm tide lapped at Kiyoshi’s heels as he walked down the path, the infinite sea closing over the path behind him as he continued forward. Panic tried to well up within him, but Master Wolf had taught him well. He breathed deep and even, and though the disquiet did not go away, it also did not rule him.

How long he followed the path, he could not say. It could have been minutes, hours, even _ days _; time seemed to have no meaning in this strange place. But, as abruptly as he’d found himself on the path’s beginning, he found himself at the end. Stairs stretched before him, and at the top, he found a circular platform. At the center stood a raised basin, water flowing infinitely from it into the endless ocean via deep channels carved into either side of the platform.

Kiyoshi felt himself oddly..._ drawn _ to the basin, shuffling forward to stand in front of it before he even knew it. He peered down at his reflection, only to flinch in shock. His reflection was... _ wrong. _

Where he had the Shinobi Fang, his reflection had a jet-black, almost _ withered _ arm terminating in translucent claws. Jagged black markings like cracks marred its cheeks, and its hair had changed from his own ashen grey to metallic silver. Most alien of all, though, were the eyes. Those damnable _ eyes _. Though no kanji marred them, Kiyoshi would recognize the rainbow coloration of the irises anywhere.

_ Those eyes belonged to the demon that had made him an orphan. _

Even with his training, Kiyoshi struggled to control his fear. He staggered back, only to be halted abruptly when the blackened hand erupted from the basin and wrapped around his collar, seemingly using him as leverage to pull itself into the world. As fine silken shoes set down on the damp platform, there was a sound like roaring, and a chill wind that blinded Kiyoshi for a moment. When he reopened his eyes, he saw what the demon (for what else could it be?) before him had done.

The infinite ocean had been frozen in an instant, calm, life-giving waters giving way to a frigid, _ dead _ tundra. Kiyoshi shivered, as much because of the cold as because of how the _ thing _ that was wearing his face was looking at him.

“Now, now. There’s no need to be afraid. _ I’m you, after all. _ ” The demon’s voice was kindly, almost gentle — _ and wholly not his own. _ Indeed, it sounded far more like _ that man’s _ than his own: carefree, charismatic, and _ utterly ingenuine _.

Kiyoshi snarled at the creature wearing his face. “If you’re a part of me, then it’s a part I don’t want anything to do with!”

It chuckled. “My, my. So rash, so cruel.” It’s eyes crinkled as a wicked smile curved its lips. “So _ foolish _ .” Releasing its grip on his collar, the demon spread its arms wide. “You think you have a _ choice? _ My dear other self, you have already accepted me into yourself!”

The creature’s eyes flashed with cruel glee as it offered its blackened hand, palm up. “You can’t lie to yourself. The moment you spilled that kid’s guts on the ground, you became just as much of a monster as the demons you train to hunt.”

“But, I—” Kiyoshi flinched, taking a step back, but the demon took a step forward, pursuing him physically even as it continued its verbal assault. “‘But’ nothing! You could’ve beaten him without killing him, and you _ certainly _ didn’t need to rip open his stomach! We’ve studied enough medicine to know that gut wounds are a terrible way to die, and yet you tore him open without mercy!” By this point, the demon was nose to nose with Kiyoshi, clawed hands gripping his shoulders as the monster glared gleefully into his wide, fearful eyes.

“Face it, me,” the creature crooned, “you’ve already gotten a taste for murder. _ It’s only a matter of time before you fall _ . _ ” _

The blackened hand rose from Kiyoshi’s shoulder to caress the side of his face, its icy touch leaving behind trails of frost on his skin. Then, in the span of an instant, the hand was around his throat, squeezing in a manner all too familiar to Kiyoshi.

As Kiyoshi gasped for air futilely and scrabbled at the monster’s arm with both hands, and his vision began to dim, he felt it. The source of the vague unease that he’d felt upon finding himself in this place, and had been subsequently overshadowed by his fear of the demon.

This demon didn’t have a Chi signature, but more importantly: _ neither did he. _

Now, it was possible to conceal one's life energy, but Kiyoshi did not know how to do that. So, if he could not feel his _ own _ life force, that could mean only one thing.

_ “This isn’t real,” _ Kiyoshi declared, his windpipe now unobstructed despite the frostbitten, necrosed claws encircling his throat. The demon’s eyes widened.

“I d-don’t know who you are, or what kind of illusion y-you have me in, but your trickery won’t work on m-me anymore!” The confidence with which he shouted this was rather undermined by how his chest heaved on the edge of hyperventilation, as well as how his shoulders trembled.

The demon released Kiyoshi, then threw its head back and _ laughed _. It was a hideous sound, full of malice and sadistic glee. Once the monster’s laughter petered out after about a minute, it spoke again.

“You poor, poor fool. You really don’t know anything, do you?” The demon shook its head in mock-disappointment. “I’ve already told you who I am.”

It poked Kiyoshi in the chest with a blackened digit. “I. Am. _ You! _’ 

The demon folded its arms. “If you can’t accept that, then…”

_ Begone. _

And with the venomous iridescence of the demon’s eyes, the world vanished and Kiyoshi awoke.

As he shakily sat up in a futon, chest heaving, he reached up to touch his aching throat. He felt..._ sick _, and not just because of the horribly detailed nightmare he’d just had. He didn’t recognize the room he was in.

As his eyes swept the unfamiliar, candlelit room almost frantically, they landed on the form of Mister Yushiro, kneeling in front of a small, portable table. Miss Tamayo’s assistant didn’t seem to have noticed he’d woken up, based on the intensity with which he was working a mortar and pestle.

Kiyoshi’s fingers gripped the hem of his shirt in a tight, trembling grip as he struggled to bring his breathing under control. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to empty his mind of thought, but to no avail. His mind’s eye was filled with memories of rainbow-colored eyes with kanji in the place of pupils.

Desperate to stave off the oncoming panic attack, Kiyoshi focused on the kanji, repeating them through gritted teeth like a mantra.

_ “‘Upper Moon...Two…” _

-x-x-x-x-x-

The bell-clear tone of steel meeting steel echoed through the yard as Seiren, the blade once wielded by the late Emma, clashed with Kusabimaru. 

Wolf had been surprised when Tamayo had requested that he cross blades with her, but had agreed nonetheless. It was almost nostalgic; Wolf could feel the influences of Isshin’s bladework in her own, doubtless due to the fact that Emma had been trained by the legendary sword saint and passed those teachings down to her daughter.

At the same time, though, the Ashina arts as wielded by Tamayo were..._ gentler _, he supposed — Though that wasn’t to say they were weak! That was far from the truth; Tamayo’s every strike rattled his bones, and her technique was impeccable as well.

If Wolf had to describe it, it was the difference between a hurricane and a river. Isshin’s swordsmanship had been ferocious, emotional, and overwhelming: a fanatical cataclysm leashed to a barely human body. 

Tamayo’s, on the other hand, had a more measured cadence to it, each strike leading to the next in a logical manner...right up until it didn’t and the “melody” changed. It was a style that was easy to underestimate, and one that swiftly and keenly punished that conceit.

As their blades parted, Tamayo sighed and sheathed Seiren, bowing to Wolf and assuming a relaxed stance even as Wolf followed suit. 

Though Wolf would not pretend to be an expert at interpreting emotions, it was plain even to him that Tamayo was frustrated about something. 

Before he could voice a question, though, Tamayo spoke. “It is about time that I do my rounds. My thanks for your assistance, Wolf.” She inclined her head and quickly made her way around the back of the building to the entrance to the basement. 

Wolf frowned, then shook his head and gazed at the house — or rather, what remained of it. On one hand, they had managed to salvage most of Tamayo’s tools, and she had kept exhaustive copies of all of her research in a watertight, fire-resistant safe in the basement for precisely this reason. 

On the other, the vast majority of the building and the amenities within had either burned up or been ruined by the water they’d used to put it out. Wolf had already sent Sanzashi with a missive to the Ubuyashiki head detailing the events that had occurred, though the spectral owl seemed rather annoyed to be called on for messenger duty. Perhaps he ought to spend some time actually bonding with the spirit…

Wolf shook his head. Perhaps when there was less to be done. Aside from tearing down the burned husk of the house and rebuilding it, which was a task and a half in and of itself, they also needed to determine how Kiyoshi had been affected by killing the young Lone Shadow (though Tamayo would assuredly be better suited to this than he).

Wolf suspected that Kiyoshi would need time to recover from his wounds, both physical and emotional, before he could return to training. In a twisted way, this was fortuitous, because Wolf _ needed _ to track down Hanzou and wipe him from the face of the earth. That the man had not only survived what Wolf had done to him but had _ also _ been able to escape had concerning implications.

If some of Dosaku’s research into weaponizing the Rejuvenating Sediment had survived...Wolf’s lips pulled back as he bared his teeth into a snarl. 

There would _ not _ be a second Senpou Temple; he’d make sure of it.

Wolf was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of Yushiro’s voice calling for him. As he turned and began to walk towards the backyard, the familiar woosh of flame whispered past his ear and a letter was dropped onto his head. He snatched it out of the air before it had the chance to fall more than a handspan and looked askance at the owl made of spectral blue flame where it perched on a burned chunk of wood.

Sanzashi pretended to be occupied with preening, but as the owl was made of fire, Wolf saw this action for what it was: a dismissal. With a barely-noticeable shake of his head, the ageless shinobi made his way into the basement clinic, opening the letter as he walked.

By the time he reached the door to Kiyoshi’s room, he’d skimmed the contents. As he entered, he reread the letter more carefully, and remained as dumbfounded as the first time he’d read it.

It wasn’t easy to surprise Wolf, and it was even more difficult to confound him so completely that he stopped in his tracks (indeed, the number of people who’d caught him off guard so thoroughly could be counted on his single hand), but it seemed that Kagaya Ubuyashiki had managed it.

Wolf stepped further into the room and regarded Kiyoshi. His disciple was awake and cognizant, but Wolf could instantly tell that he was far from recovered, physically _ or _ mentally. Thin bruises from the wires encircled his neck, and there was a _ heaviness _to his gaze that hadn’t been there before, even with all that the youth had been through.

...Well, if there was _ anything _ good about Ubuyashiki’s mad decision, it would be that it would _ certainly _ make for quite the distraction from his trauma.

Wolf cleared his throat, garnering the attention off all three occupants of the room. He didn’t miss the spark of panic that flashed through Kiyoshi’s eyes, but spoke all the same.

“Sent a letter to Ubuyashiki, the head of the Demon Slayers,” Wolf said flatly, holding up the response he’d gotten. “He’s coming here.”

Yushiro’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he inhaled, mouth wide open, but Tamayo raised a hand for silence. She gestured for Wolf to continue.

“He wants to meet with you again, and see if he can help,” Wolf continued, “But he’s gotten weaker. He’ll be bringing a Pillar with him. They’ll arrive in a few days.”

This time, Yushiro would not be silenced. “Are you _ MAD?” _ he shouted. “A Pillar is the _ last _ kind of person that should meet Lady Tamayo! We have to relocate, hide our tracks, find—”

“Yushiro.” Lady Tamayo’s voice was calm, kind, and devoid of malice. However, it _ did _ carry all of the authority of a doctor with two hundred years of experience.

Even _ Wolf _ felt his spine straighten slightly in response.

“Kagaya Ubuyashiki is many things, but a fool he is _ not _,” Tamayo stated firmly. “I trust that man to know which of his ‘children’ are suitable for the task. I’m certain that he has somebody in mind.” She gazed at Wolf expectantly.

“He does. A woman who wants demons and humans to coexist,” Wolf confirmed, glancing at the letter. 

“The Flower Pillar, Kanae Kochou.”

* * *

**AN: Wow. It’s been nearly a month since I’ve updated. Without going into too much detail, I’ve been going through some really ** ** _unpleasant _ ** **stuff as of late, and it’s done a number on my motivation. Buuuuut...I’m back, and if I have anything to say about it, I’m back to stay.**


	10. Chapter 8: Scent of Flowers, Flood of Tears

Chapter 8: Scent of Flowers, Flood of Tears

The path through the forest was well worn and had little incline, Kanae Kochou noticed happily. The Master wouldn’t have any trouble climbing to meet these people he refused to tell her about.

_ “I want you to form your impressions of them without any of mine giving you a bias.” _ Kanae understood, but she’d still have liked  _ some _ information about where they were going. This was the safety of _ the Master _ they were talking about! The man that she—no,  _ all _ of the Pillars respected more than anyone else in the world!

Even she, the happy-go-lucky big sister of the family had to take something like this seriously, you know?!

It wasn’t like Kanae didn’t trust the Master’s judgment; she did. She just wished that he’d given her a bit more information.

But there was nothing for it, and they continued on in silence, the Master trailing just behind her. They traveled and time passed, afternoon faded to evening. As the sun set, Kanae got a twinge at the back of her neck; something was  _ off _ , but she could not tell  _ what _ . Nonetheless, she loosened her Nichirin blade in its scabbard and kept her head on a swivel, ready to explode into action if it proved necessary. 

Not even a minute later, a chill breeze blew through the trees, causing Kanae’s long tresses of hair and butterfly-themed haori to billow. Kanae tensed as the wind carried on its wings the unmistakable chime of blade against blade. Her hand went to the hilt of her own sword, but was met by the gentle hand of the Master, who shook his head at her with an enigmatic smile.

Were this anyone other than the Master, Kanae would have pouted at them. As it was, though, she inclined her head, then let her hand drop back to her side. She made certain that she was positioned between the Master and the sound of ringing steel at all times, however.

Soon enough, the two emerged from the forest into a clearing. Kanae’s eyes were immediately drawn to the source of the sounds of combat. A tall, one-armed man wearing a grey kimono so ragged that it scarcely qualified as clothing stood opposite a calm woman, a pristine katana brandished in the woman’s direction. The brief pause in their clashing was backlit by a burned husk of a building, one of the reasons for their visit.

The woman — no, now that Kanae got closer, she could see the signs. The  _ demon _ held a smaller blade, one lacking a tsuba, and as the Flower Pillar tensed once more, hand going to her own sword, the demon…

Sheathed her blade and bowed to the man?

The demon then spoke. “Though I am eager to continue shaking off the rust, it would appear that our visitors have arrived.” She turned towards them — no, towards  _ the Master _ and bowed deeply. “Sir Ubuyashiki. It has been some time since last we met. It saddens me to see that your condition has continued its progression, but it is heartening to see that you yet retain your eyesight, at least.”

The Master gave the demon a kind smile. “I haven’t succumbed  _ quite _ yet, Miss Tamayo.” He turned to regard the-one armed man, who’d sheathed his own blade and now gave the Master a short nod. 

The Master chuckled. “As stoic as ever, Noble Wolf.” He then turned to Kanae. “Come now, Kanae. Don’t be shy; introduce yourself.”

Kanae blinked, and let some of the tension bleed out of her body. Could it be? The thing she dreamed of since she had first encountered a demon, right before her eyes?

A human and a demon, living in harmony?!

She  _ had  _ to know.

-x-x-x-

The woman named Kanae seemed off-balance, Tamayo observed, but she  _ knew _ she saw a spark of giddiness in the Pillar’s amethyst eyes. Considering Ubuyashiki’s letter, Tamayo doubted that the long-haired woman’s excitement was in anticipation of battle.

“Flower Pillar, Kanae Kochou,” she declared almost breathlessly. “Please, tell me; how is it that a demon and a human are coexisting?”

_ ‘No,  _ definitely  _ not in anticipation of battle _ ’, Tamayo thought with a small smile. “The answer to that, Miss Kochou, is complicated. The simple answer is that I am the daughter of Emma the Physician, who herself was the heir to Dogen, this country’s greatest doctor.” Tamayo’s smile sharpened slightly. “ _ That man’s _ curse is no curse at all, but a disease, a  _ plague _ for which he is the orchestrator and chief incubator both.” She let out a harsh sigh, then gave a sad smile.

“And  _ because  _ it is a plague, not a curse,” Tamayo continued, “it  _ can _ be treated. The symptoms  _ can _ be minimized...though it pains me to admit that it is no easy task to do so, particularly if the demon in question has consumed many humans.” 

Tamayo ran her hands down the front of her kimono, smoothing it, before adding, “I can go into further detail if you like, but perhaps Sir Ubuyashiki would prefer to handle his business first?”

The addressed man smiled and shook his head. “No, please. Don’t stop your discussion on my account; this is quite interesting.”

Kanae waved her hand back and forth. “While I’m sure your studies are quite interesting, I’m also sure they’d be lost on me. Little Shinobu would probably appreciate it, though; she’s quite good with medicine and the like.” 

(Left unsaid was the fact that Kanae’s sister had started studying medicine at the age of  _ eight _ out of worry for her older sister.)

Tamayo arched a thin eyebrow. “Oh?”

Needing no further prompting than that to talk about her little sister, Kanae began a veritable sermon about Shinobu. She gushed about how adorable her determination was, how beautiful her smile was, and how strong-hearted she was.

By the end of her diatribe, Kanae’s cheeks were slightly flushed, not by embarrassment but by passion. Sir Ubuyashiki’s facial expression had scarcely changed at all, though if one looked closely enough, they’d be able to spot a spark of almost fatherly pride in his eyes.

For his part, Wolf’s grim visage seemed unchanged, save for the slight upward curl of his lips. For Wolf, though, that was as good as a full-on smile for most people. Tamayo…

Tamayo found herself smiling sadly as she held back tears. That pure, unconditional, familial love stirred emotions within her that she preferred to keep under tight control, memories that she only revisited in the privacy of meditation.

Memories of the family that she had made for herself, before Muzan came. Memories of the family that had been snatched away by the plague  _ he _ had inflicted upon her.

_ Memories of her husband, son, and infant daughter, all rent to pieces and devoured by her own hands. _

…

The wetness on her cheeks told Tamayo that she was no longer holding back her tears.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Kiyoshi could feel Miss Tamayo’s pain even from where he sat in the basement, several meters of soil and stone between them notwithstanding. From the lack of danger in Master Wolf’s Chi, though, it seemed that the two newcomers that he could sense were not to blame.

The one whose Chi was akin to a barely lit flame giving off choking smoke had to be the Ubuyashiki man Master Wolf had spoken of. The energy that reminded him of nothing so much as cherry blossoms scattered on the surface of a still lake, then, belonged to the Flower Pillar, Kanae Kochou.

As though confirming his thought, both of their souls seemed to shiver in shock and concern, even as Miss Tamayo’s own energy hit a breaking point and overflowed. Even Master Wolf’s Chi wasn’t unaffected; folded steel his soul may have been, but Kiyoshi had observed that life-force far too often to not notice the way it wavered when faced with Miss Tamayo’s pain.

Kiyoshi, after a few moments more, clenched his eyes shut. Even as his face contorted, his inner eye slammed closed as well. That roiling, violent current of grief and hate, when piled on top of his own doubts, fears, and emotions…

It was just  _ too much _ , and so he blocked it out with a flash of guilt. He didn’t know why Miss Tamayo was hurting so badly, but he  _ did _ know that he’d be of no help to her as he was now. 

_ ‘All I can do _ , _ ’ _ he thought as he reopened his eyes with a grimace,  _ ‘is focus on training.’ _

While he had not yet been declared fit to return to physical conditioning, this gave him more time to study medicines and medical texts, especially the ones penned by Miss Tamayo regarding the demon plague. Surprisingly, Master Wolf had also had a few texts for him to look over, though these ‘Esoteric Texts’ were probably meant to accompany actual physical practice. 

Nevertheless, he still studied the worn scrolls, commiting to mind what theory and philosophy  _ could _ be coaxed from them.

Time passed slowly in the quiet of his room as he scanned the scrolls and paged through the medical journals. After a while, though, the atmosphere was broken by the sound of the door sliding open. Mister Yushiro poked his head into the room and addressed Kiyoshi.

“The Demon Hunters want to meet you, Kiyoshi. Lady Tamayo is... _ indisposed _ , so it falls to Sir Wolf and I to host them. And, well…” Mister Yushiro trailed off, looking to one side awkwardly.

“And Master Wolf is poor at communication; I know,” Kiyoshi finished with a small laugh, his lips quirking upwards briefly.

The older man coughed into his fist, and continued. “Yes, well! Due both to Sir Wolf’s... _ reserved _ disposition and to the fact that you plan to at least nominally join their order, Sir Wolf decided it would be best for you to meet Sir Ubuyashiki and Miss Kochou.”

Kiyoshi nodded, set his texts aside, and rose to his feet wordlessly. Mister Yushiro withdrew his head from the room, and Kiyoshi followed behind on quiet feet. As they emerged from the basement into an overcast night, Kiyoshi cracked open his inner eye, wincing slightly at the still-intense torrent of grief coming from Miss Tamayo, who had apparently retreated into the basement to compose herself.

Though it was difficult, he managed to focus the “gaze” of his inner eye on the Chi signatures of the newcomers, rather than on Miss Tamayo’s. He could still feel her pain, but it was the difference between noticing the focal point of a painting and registering something that was painted into the background.

The point was, the closer he got to the two members of the Demon Slayer Corps, the more their energies emerged into the foreground, and the less pronounced Miss Tamayo’s grief became. He felt another stab of guilt, but pushed it down with great effort.

Even though he could not think of anything to do to help Miss Tamayo, her pain still made his soul ache. Miss Tamayo was a doctor, but what ailed her was surely not something that stitches and poultices could mend.

Who, then, would heal the healer? It frustrated Kiyoshi beyond belief that, after all Miss Tamayo had done for him, that he could do nothing for her in  _ her  _ time of need.

It was  _ maddening _ .

Abruptly, Kiyoshi was jolted from his spiralling thoughts by a shifting of Chi from one of their guests.

He quickly realized why; he and Yushiro had arrived at a small garden area, where Master Wolf and the two members of the Demon Slayer Corps were all seated around a small stone table.

Judging from the look on the—remarkably beautiful—woman’s face, as well as  _ where _ her gaze was fixed, the Flower Pillar had  _ not _ been expecting him to have a prosthetic arm.

As her gaze flickered from Kiyoshi to Master Wolf, her eyes widened and a glint of shocked understanding appeared in her eyes.

“You’re—”

-x-x-x-

“—Sekiro?!” Kanae blurted, her shocked horror at seeing a child who seemed no older than her dear Shinobu with a false arm – no,  _ the _ false arm. The Fang of the One-Armed Wolf, the defining feature of a legendary shinobi straight out of the Warring States period, and one who was apparently  _ still living and sitting in front of her three centuries later! _

The man that the Master had identified as “Wolf” shook his head. “That name is no longer mine.” He looked over to the silver-haired boy. “Young Kiyoshi will inherit a similar title, once he is ready.”

Kanae was briefly nonplussed, but ran a hand through her hair and gathered her wits, though not without almost dislodging one of the butterfly hairpins Shinbou had bought for her in the process.

Finally, she simply asked,  _ “How?” _

“Emma was a  _ very _ skilled doctor,” Wolf replied with equal simplicity, his face serious. “I cannot sicken, nor can I die of old age, but I may still be slain.” He looked back at Kiyoshi. “However, I am not who you wished to meet. 

“Kiyoshi.” His voice did not change in the slightest, and yet the boy responded immediately, bowing to both the Master and to Kanae before walking forward and seating himself at Wolf’s side. The twitchy demon boy, Yushiro, bowed and practically vanished, rushing back the way he’d come, assuredly to tend to Tamayo. Kanae had clearly seen the love in his eyes when he’d come to her side, even through the anxiety and pain Yushiro was clearly experiencing due to Tamayo’s distress.

His love was a beautiful sight to behold, even if Kanae did not know what had gone so wrong when she’d described Shinobu. Wolf had merely said that it was not his story to tell, and the Master had nodded in solemn agreement, one of the rare moments where his kind smile was  _ absent _ . That had been more than enough reason for Kanae to drop the subject, not that she had planned to pry into the deeply personal affairs of a stranger.

Kanae had a curious mind, but to sate her curiosity at the expense of another person was unthinkable to her.

And so, whenever Kiyoshi seemed uncomfortable during their conversation about himself and his past, she did not press. She asked questions, here and there, but largely allowed him to set the pace of their conversation.

At the end, when the Master and Kanae had both stood and were about to bid them farewell, he asked her a question that worried her greatly.

_ “How strong do you have to be to kill an ‘Upper Moon’ demon?” _

The fact that Kiyoshi even  _ knew what an Upper Moon was _ concerned Kanae deeply, but the way his eyes looked when he spoke...there was a darkness to them, a deep and dangerous abyss that seemed to swallow the subdued positivity that he had shown up until this point.

Nonetheless, Kanae answered as honestly as she could. “Stronger than I am, most likely.”

The blackness in Kiyoshi’s gaze seemed to recede, and he nodded thoughtfully and thanked her with a deep bow. Still shaken, Kanae noticed the Master pass a cheque to Wolf, presumably to assist with rebuilding the house.

Thereafter, they departed without fanfare, the sun rising a few hours into their journey back to the Ubuyashiki Estate in Kyoto. Though Kanae remained alert for their journey back, part of her mind was fixed on that sliver-haired boy with the dark gaze.

Perhaps that is why she told Shinobu all about him when she returned to the Butterfly Estate.

-x-x-x-x-x-

A few hours after Miss Kochou and Sir Ubuyashiki departed, Kiyoshi heard a knocking on his door. He called for whoever it was to enter, though by all rights any of the three other occupants of the home were within their rights to come in unannounced.

The door slid open, and a tired-looking Miss Tamayo entered the room, crossed the floor between them, and sank down onto a tatami mat beside him.

“Kiyoshi,” she said quietly, “I think it is time that we talked. About your guilt...and  _ mine _ .”

* * *

**AN: This came out later than anticipated for a couple of reasons. First, because of holiday obligations. Second, because I’m sick. Nothing serious, just a head cold, but it does tend to drain my energy more than I’d like. But better late than never, I suppose.**


	11. Chapter 9: A Place To Belong

Chapter 9: A Place To Belong

Miss Tamayo’s words rang in his ears like a funeral bell.

Kiyoshi gripped the edges of the textbook he’d been studying, his knuckles white. His heart pounded as the jaws of panic closed around him. His breath came in shuddering gasps, and the book fell from his hands to the floor even as he crumpled forward...directly into Miss Tamayo’s waiting arms.

As visions of gore and chunks intestine caked around a spearhead danced in front of his eyes, he shook. As phantom talons closed his throat with their icy grasp,  _ he shook _ . As the scent of blood and bile caused his gorge to rise, _ He. Shook. _

And through it all, Miss Tamayo was there. He could feel her comforting touch, even though his mind was worlds away. Could hear her gentle, soothing words, even though his eyes were clouded by memories. Kiyoshi began to sob, half in grief and half in relief.

Because no matter how hard it was, Miss Tamayo  _ was there _ .

Breath by breath, Kiyoshi gathered himself. Tear by tear, he calmed himself. And after the panic had finally released him, he uncurled himself. 

Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he met Miss Tamayo’s eyes, full of concern and understanding. He opened his mouth to apologise, to explain, to say  _ something _ , but she raised her hand. 

“Please. Allow me to speak, young Kiyoshi. Allow me to tell you of my guilt. Of my  _ sin _ .”

-x-x-x-x-x-

_ It was two-hundred and sixty two years ago, nearly four decades after the start of the Edo Period. My mother had aged considerably, half a century having passed since the fall of Ashina and the decisive conclusion of the Sengoku Period. However, old though she was, my mother was by no means  _ frail _ . I do not know if was because of the research she and fa—she and  _ Dojun _ had conducted, or simply due to maintaining her health through the training passed down to her by Lord Isshin Ashina, but the fact remained: though her life approached eight decades, Mother was far from death. _

_ Seemingly superhuman vitality notwithstanding, Mother was determined to pass on as much of her knowledge to me as possible. As such, by the time I was thirty and married, I was also the second most skilled doctor in the prefecture, and the fifth most skilled in Japan. My skills with a sword, while not nearly so exalted by comparison to Mother’s teacher or to  _ that _ man, were more than sufficient… _

_ Or so I believed. _

_ To this day, I do not know what brought Muzan Kibutsuji to my door. Was it some twist of fate? A coincidence? Was it because of my connection to Mother, and by association, to Dogen? _

_ In truth, it does not matter. What matters is that, one day, he came into my clinic, calm as could be, and filled my veins with  _ evil _ . I did not even have a chance to draw my sword; he was too fast, more a force of nature than anything alive. The pain was unimaginable...but compared to what happened afterward, it barely hurt at all. _

_ Muzan, whatever else may be said about that  _ monster _ , is a cunning hunter. He timed his arrival down to the second, so that the  _ instant  _ the transformation was completed, the very  _ moment  _ I rose again, thrall to his plague… _

_ That was the moment my husband walked into the clinic, accompanied by my son and infant daughter. _

_ Even now, I can hear their screams and feel their flesh part beneath my nails. _

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Even now, I can still taste their blood on my lips.” Miss Tamayo choked on the words, her face crumpling in on itself in pain. But even through her pain, she continued to speak. “Not a day goes by that I do not feel guilt for what happened to them, even though I  _ know _ -” she tapped the side of her head with a finger “-I  _ know _ that freshly converted demons have all the rationality of starving animals, and will devour any human put before them in a frenzy. It would take a level of willpower far beyond any normal person to restrain that starving bloodthirst.”

Miss Tamayo let out a shuddering breath. “I  _ know  _ this, rationally. But even so...I still feel that clawing, suffocating guilt. Because while the mind operates on fact and reason, the heart has no such limitation.”

Finally, Kiyoshi felt comfortable speaking. “I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry this happened to you, Miss Tamayo, but...why are you telling  _ me _ this?”

Miss Tamayo smiled sadly. “Because, young Kiyoshi, I fear that you are doing the same thing to yourself, and I want to show you that  _ you are not alone _ .”

And just like that, with those four simple words, something inside Kiyoshi loosened. As he clung to the woman who had taken him in and healed him, fed him, clothed him and taught him, expecting nothing in return, something warm settled in his chest, wrapping around the seething knot of guilt and hate. 

It did not make it go away. It did, however, make it easier to bear, even if only a little.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The days passed slowly while Kiyoshi was healing, even more so now that Master Wolf had left to try and track down the shinobi who’d attacked their home. Mister Yushiro was often busy either training his body, working on something called a “Blood Demon Art”, or organizing things with the laborers that Miss Tamayo had hired with the money that the Master had given her.

Miss Tamayo, for her part, made time to visit with him, sometimes to talk, other times to teach, and still other times merely to sit and have tea with him (well, watch him have tea; demons couldn’t stomach normal food any more than normal humans could stomach human blood. Which is to say, they'd be fine with a little swallowed accidentally, but they shouldn't make a habit of it).

The days were peaceful, almost painfully slow, so when the time came that he was healed enough to train again, Kiyoshi was ecstatic. Since Master Wolf was away, he wouldn’t be able to train with any new prosthetic attachments, though he still trained with the two he  _ had _ learned.

If Miss Tamayo noticed how his hands shook while he handled the spear, she did not comment.

Of course, the uses of the Shinobi Fang and its tools were far from the only thing Kiyoshi worked on. It wasn’t safe for him to travel to Mister Kuwajima’s home, since Master Wolf was away, but he could still practice the principles of Full Focus Breathing that had already been taught to him and try to shape it into his own style.

Progress on this front was slow, but Kiyoshi  _ swore _ he was close; it was a similar sensation to when his fingers would brush against an object  _ just _ out of reach, just... _ within _ him, rather than without.

Finally, and most notably, was the fact that Miss Tamayo took over his sword training while Master Wolf was away. Now, Kiyoshi knew that Miss Tamayo was a capable swordswoman; the speed and force of the sounds of sparring that had echoed out in the yard each night before Master Wolf had left told him all he needed to know.

However…

Perhaps it was because Miss Tamayo truly was human in all ways that mattered to Kiyoshi, but he had completely forgotten to take into account the superhuman strength of a demon when it came time for him to demonstrate what he’d learned from Master Wolf. As such, he was woefully unprepared for the force of her opening cut, which tore his sword from his hands and sent it tumbling behind him.

To his credit, Kiyoshi almost immediately rearmed himself with the spear attachment of the Shinobi Fang, but “almost immediately” was simply too slow. By the time the spear was fully extended, Miss Tamayo had gracefully flowed inside his guard and snapped the tip of Seiren to the nape of his neck.

From there, Miss Tamayo set about explaining what she was going to teach him, all the while drilling him in live combat. He very quickly learned to listen and fight at the same time, as missing her explanations was just as dangerous as not paying attention to the fight. 

_ The ache of a hundred thousand sword strokes attested to that. _

“The Ashina style of combat is an oddity among fighting styles,” she explained, turning aside a probing thrust with the same ease as shooing a fly. “It has precious few techniques to it, and indeed, its ultimate goal is the  _ removal _ of technique itself:  _ Mushin _ , the state of ‘No Mind’.”

“Fighting...without...techniques?” Kiyoshi huffed, retracting his thrust viper-quick. Sucking in another Breath, he turned into a horizontal slash at neck height, which Miss Tamayo of course deflected with ease.

She nodded, throwing a diagonal cut across his torso, which he barely deflected and still imparted enough force to push him back. “Lord Isshin once told my mother this: ‘The Ashina style is the crystallization of the Fountainhead Waters we worship. Formless, boundless, and inscrutable. The purity of battle, condensed into a single person. After all, if we don’t have a form, how can our enemies predict us?’” Miss Tamayo smiled, as though in reminiscence.

“Lord Isshin never did reach that pinnacle, that true state of emptiness, but he came close.” Miss Tamayo darted forward, sheathing her blade at her hip as she approached. 

“Infinitely close.”

_ She drew. _

“But ‘One Mind’ was not the same as ‘No Mind’, even if Lord Isshin truly was a Sword Saint.”

_ Where one cut should have been, two were made in its stead. Two cuts in the same breath, crossing one another at the center. _

Kiyoshi fell back, shirt cleanly sliced—but only his shirt.

Miss Tamayo slid Seiren back into its scabbard and helped Kiyoshi to his feet. “My apologies, young Kiyoshi. I do believe that I allowed myself to become a bit too... _ enthusiastic, _ shall we say.”

Kiyoshi shook his head. “It’s just cloth, and you gave me these clothes anyway.”

Miss Tamayo smiled fondly, and patted his head. “You are truly a good boy, young Kiyoshi.”

…

Kiyoshi’s face hadn’t been that red since he’d eaten mapo tofu as a child.

-x-x-x-x-x-

And so the training went, Kiyoshi learning more about the philosophy behind Isshin Ashina’s paradoxical sword style even as he learned how to use it himself. In part, he learned it through traditional tutelage by Miss Tamayo, but by and large he learned it by having it used on him, then deconstructing it in his mind for analysis, combining it with what he already knew, then finally applying it himself.

The result of this, of course, was that “his” Ashina style looked quite different from Miss Tamayo’s in a number of ways, but she assured him that this was not only normal, but even  _ desirable _ .

“The core concept of formlessness means that the Ashina style lends itself well to adaptation. ‘There are no hard and fast rules. You just win your battles. That alone is the most important rule of the Ashina style.’ Whatever means you must use, whatever styles you must add, the Ashina style remains the Ashina style. You cannot warp the form of something that lacks form to begin with.

“Now! A thousand more strikes!”

The days passed in a blur, and before he knew it, the air was warming up again. Spring was coming, and Kiyoshi had started learning how to replicate the Ashina Cross using Full Focus Breathing. It was a far cry from the beautiful cruciform that Miss Tamayo had drawn across his tunic, but it  _ functioned _ , and that was the important part. Refinement came after comprehension.

-x-x-x-x-x-

As the first day of Spring arrived, Wolf found his feet turning back towards home. 

…

Yes,  _ home _ . It was a strange feeling, really. Having a  _ place  _ to belong, not merely a father to obey, or a lord to serve.

Wolf clutched the stump of his arm as the fires of Shura flared inside it, impatient for carnage. For once, Wolf agreed with the vile thing within him; Hanzou had gone to ground far too well.

He suspected that the man had connections, powerful ones. How else could it be that even the caches of coin he’d left here and there around Japan could not buy him even a rumor of a purple-clad warrior, or a whisper of shinobi in general?

It frustrated Wolf; three months and nothing to show for it except spent  _ yen _ .

To continue like this, though, would be futile. He would return  _ home _ , continue training Kiyoshi, and pursue other avenues of investigation where he could.

_ ‘Hmm…’ _

Perhaps Kagaya Ubuyashiki would have some suggestions; surely he was more well connected than Wolf.

This thought on his mind, Wolf began the journey back home _ … _

* * *

**AN: Once again, the chapter took longer than anticipated, probably in part due to my head cold lingering until last Thursday. I apologise for the delay, and hope you all enjoy the chapter.**


	12. Chapter 10: Roaring Thunder, Silent Sky

Chapter 10: Roaring Thunder, Silent Sky

Master Wolf’s return was unexpected, but by no means unwelcome. Kiyoshi was eager to demonstrate the things he’d learned in the past few months to his teacher, as well as to return to training with Mister Kuwajima. Kiyoshi had figured out how to enhance his movements with Full Focus Breathing, but had yet to really develop a particular Breath of his own. 

He figured that working further with Mister Kuwajima would probably be a good place to start, and Master Wolf seemed to agree. Before they returned to the Cultivator at the end of the month, however, Master Wolf decided to start training him in the use of a new attachment for the Fang: the shuriken.

Master Wolf cautioned him that, though the shuriken were edged in a material called “lazulite”, which caused considerable pain to demons and Apparitions alike, lazulite alone was insufficient to land a killing blow on either. For that, he would need his Nichirin blade, or some Divine Confetti.

Lack of decisive lethality notwithstanding, the shuriken still served a number of purposes, not least among them being to act as a distraction. Demon or not, having one’s eye gouged by a spinning blade was unpleasant, and doubly so due to the burning contact of the lazulite.

And so, Kiyoshi was run through various shuriken-throwing drills, from simple ones like hitting a stationary target, to more difficult ones like striking precise parts of a dummy while under attack by Miss Tamayo, and to the most challenging one of all: learning to allow the motion of throwing a shuriken to naturally flow into a lunging cut with his blade. 

The “Chasing Slice” may have seemed simple on paper, but putting it into smooth, practical use was far easier said than done. The first hundred or so attempts ended with Kiyoshi on the ground, having either failed to transition quickly enough from throw to cut and being knocked down by Miss Tamayo, or having transitioned  _ too _ quickly and ended up tangling his feet.

Each time, though, Master Wolf helped him correct his stance, and eventually, after long hours of trying and failing, his body started moving like it was supposed to. By the end of the month, he had hardly come close to mastering the technique, but he was able to perform it without falling over or being too slow.

As the month ended and spring lurched into full bloom, Master Wolf and Kiyoshi began the trek to Mister Kuwajima’s house. Both master and disciple were surprised to notice that Kiyoshi was far more able to keep up with Master Wolf than the first time they’d come, even when Master Wolf increased his pace. The ancient shinobi speculated that it was due to the continued use of Full Focus Breathing, which was in itself a quite taxing exercise even before adding actual movement and combat.

Regardless of the source, the fact remained that Kiyoshi and Master Wolf were able to make far better time than before, actually arriving at Mister Kuwajima’s home just before sunset, shaving a full four hours off their initial journey time, and Master Wolf didn’t even have to carry Kiyoshi.

Upon their arrival, they were met with the sight of Kaigaku training out in the yard, Mister Kuwajima watching from the front porch of his house. Sitting beside the Cultivator was a boy with golden-blond hair. Once Kiyoshi approached, he saw that the blond boy was none other than Zenitsu!

Seeing his confusion, Mister Kuwajima launched into the tale of how his student had been struck by lightning and miraculously survived, his hair burned golden. It was fantastical, but Kiyoshi was being trained by a three century old legend to become a demon-slaying shinobi with a magic arm. Fantastical had practically become the  _ norm _ .

Nonetheless, Kiyoshi peered at Zenitsu with his inner eye, and immediately recoiled with a gasp. Zenitsu’s life energy was fairly normal, for him at least. Still filled with that painful self-loathing and fear, but otherwise normal. But.

_ Zenitsu’s life energy was not the only life energy inside of Zenitsu’s body. _

-x-x-x-

Wolf, ever watchful, noticed Kiyoshi’s shock and immediately, fixed on the same thing his disciple had. Wolf had seen this particular energy precisely once before, and only very briefly while in the Divine Realm. Nonetheless, he knew what it was.

The true form of the beast that slept inside the Agatsuma boy’s navel was that of a hound that lived and died within bolts of lightning, when they bothered to leave the thunder god Raijin’s side. 

Indirectly, this was his fault, Wolf supposed. The Sakura Dragon that he’d driven away had made it nearly impossible for the old gods of Shinto to have any meaningful effect on the world, but now...the Western deity had long since been uprooted and drifted to parts unknown, and the Divine Realm had surely returned to its original form. 

And with the old gods’ return to stability, so too returned their creations, it seemed. For the beast sleeping soundly in the cradle that was Zenitsu Agatsuma was none other than a Raiju, a lightning beast created by the thunder god to run beside him when he hunted.

Abruptly, Wolf was snapped from his thoughts by the feeling of Kiyoshi tugging on his sleeve, looking uncertain. Wolf’s brow furrowed. Though he knew what the beast was, knew the tales of Raijin shooting arrows at the navels of people who the Raiju had chosen to nap inside, he knew nothing about how one was actually supposed to deal with a hound made of lightning sleeping inside someone’s navel, its very soul intertwined with its host at the point where life truly began.

“It seems,” Wolf rumbled, “that we have a situation.”

-x-x-x-

Mister Kuwajima was, understandably concerned by what Master Wolf had revealed to them, but his reaction was far outclassed by Zenitsu’s. He...well, he behaved like a man possessed, fittingly enough. 

It would’ve been funny if Kiyoshi couldn’t feel the panic and terror that wracked the younger boy with every sob, convulsion, and scream. Zenitsu was genuinely terrified for his life, and Kiyoshi couldn’t really blame him; a divine beast made of deadly lightning  _ had _ decided to take up residence in his body and intertwine itself with his life energy, after all.

Of course, that was the moment Kaigaku decided to saunter over and sneer at poor, terrified Zenitsu. Kiyoshi, however, was having none of it, grabbing the dark-haired boy’s shoulder and jerking him away.

“Face me,” Kiyoshi demanded in an even, cold tone. If Kaigaku couldn’t be bothered to read the situation and not make an ass of himself, Kiyoshi would make sure he wasn’t near the situation to begin with...provided their teachers approved of it, of course. 

Kiyoshi shot a glance at the adults, the question clear in his eyes. Master Wolf inclined his head slightly, and Mister Kuwajima frowned, before nodding wearily and bodily scooping up the still-quaking Zenitsu and hauling him inside of the house. Master Wolf remained outside, presumably to make sure they didn’t kill one another.

_ ‘Not that this arrogant jerk could kill me even if he wanted to,’ _ Kiyoshi thought with a frown.  _ ‘I will not die, not until  _ that man _ does.’ _

It was no secret that Kiyoshi wasn’t fond of Kaigaku, and the reverse was true as well. Where Kiyoshi looked askance at Kaigaku’s all-or-nothing mindset and mistreatment of Zenitsu, Kaigaku thought that Kiyoshi’s way of thinking was  _ weak _ , and that he was unworthy of the power he’d been “given”.

This meant that Kaigaku was just as eager to prove he was better than Kiyoshi, more powerful, as Kiyoshi was to keep Kaigaku from causing Zenitsu further stress. Really, this confrontation had been coming since the moment the two met.

In a way, this fight was to be a clash of ideals, of states of mind; a clash between the ideas “the weak are meat, the strong eat” and “the strong protect the weak so that they may become strong”.

At its core, though, this was a fight between two boys, barely teenagers, who disliked each other and wanted to take that out on one another.

-x-x-x-

“I’ll stop the fight if it looks like someone will die,” Master Wolf directed from his position off to one side. “Otherwise, fight until one of you is disarmed and helpless, is rendered unconscious, or concedes.”

Kiyoshi stared at Kaigaku, who’d drawn his Nichirin blade from his back and rested it on his shoulder with deliberate casualness. Kiyoshi could see the tension in his muscles, though, and could feel the anticipation roiling on the sea of black that was Kaigaku’s emotions.

He thumbed the guard of his own blade, loosening it its scabbard, before exhaling slowly, letting all the anger and frustration loosen from his chest. He was still angry, but it was distant and disconnected. What mattered now was what was before him. What mattered was the  _ fight _ .

The moment Master Wolf signaled them to begin, both Kiyoshi and Kaigaku sprang forward, closing the five or so meters between them in an instant, blades flashing towards one another and meeting in the slim space between them.

Back and forth did their strikes clash, neither giving an inch. After perhaps a half dozen exchanges, Kiyoshi leapt back a step, and shifted his grip to a one-handed one. As Kaigaku lunged after him, he palmed a five yen coin and flicked it into the air. The light caught it  _ just _ right, drawing the other boy’s eye even as Kiyoshi lunged forward into a diagonal slash.

Kaigaku wasn’t fooled long by the ruse, but the half-second he took his eyes off of Kiyoshi for ensured that he wasn’t able to raise his guard properly, leading to an awkward downward deflection that left his entire left side open. Only the fact that Kiyoshi’s own blade had been pushed down as well saved him from a nasty follow-up cut...but it didn’t save him from Kiyoshi’s actual follow-up.

Kiyoshi rammed bodily into Kaigaku, blasting the air from his lungs and shoving him off balance in one motion. He didn’t stop there, however. Even as Kaigaku was still reeling from the first blow, Kiyoshi spun past the other boy, ending back-to-back with him as he slammed his elbow into the small of Kaigaku’s back, sending him sprawling.

Wonder of wonders, the other boy had managed to keep ahold of his blade, and even as Kiyoshi was moving towards his prone body, Kaigaku shot to his feet, fuming. His grip on his blade became white-knucked as he took a stance and  _ Breathed. _

_ Breath of Thunder, Second Form: Lightning Ball!’ _

Kaigaku’s arm  _ blurred _ as five talons made of Chi-lightning lashed out in their wake, closing around Kiyoshi like the maw of some monster. So  _ this  _ was the difference between just Breathing and using a proper style! Kiyoshi could see no way out, no gap in the burning cage of faux-lightning encircling him…

And then it hit him. If he couldn’t find an opening in this technique, he’d  _ make _ one. Kiyoshi slammed his blade back into its scabbard, then immediately sucked in a Breath and  _ drew.  _

A gleaming silver cross met the golden claws of false lightning, forcing Kaigaku back as the jaws of his technique snapped shut just shy of Kiyoshi’s face. Even as his opponent was drawing his blade back and filling his lungs for another technique, a blur of metal, gleaming like starlight, hurtled towards his face. Kaigaku lashed out at the shuriken with his blade, sending it spinning off to one side, but by that time, Kiyoshi was already within his guard, blade arcing towards his neck.

Kiyoshi’s blade stopped a hair’s breadth away from cutting into Kaigaku’s neck as he flatly demanded, “Concede.”

Kaigaku’s face contorted with rage, and he slammed the heel of his hand into Kiyoshi’s gut, forcing him backwards but also causing Kiyoshi’s blade to bite into his neck, leaving a shallow but stinging wound. Kaigaku’s Chi flared with humiliation, and the boy showed the extent of his rage by redoubling his attacks. 

Lightning flared about wildly as he attacked with the ferocity of a storm, forgoing proper techniques entirely and merely maintaining a continuous assault of gold-tinted strikes, forcing Kiyoshi onto the defensive. Strike after strike came in such rapid succession that Kiyoshi simply didn’t have  _ time _ to deploy one of the Shinobi Fang’s attachments, not that he spared the time to think to do so in the face of the blistering assault.

Unfortunately for Kiyoshi, though he was well and truly wroth, Kaigaku did not allow his rage to blind him. No, he harnessed his rage, and wielded it like a surgeon’s knife, picking at the flaws in Kiyoshi’s stance and simultaneously reacting to any move Kiyoshi made with preternatural precision.

Kiyoshi was well and truly on the back foot here, and unlike when facing Master Wolf or Miss Tamayo, it rankled him  _ fiercely _ . Master Wolf and Miss Tamayo were his  _ teachers _ , and were hundreds of years old besides; losing to them was an inevitability. But Kaigaku…

Kaigaku was just a  _ bully! _ This was no longer just about standing up for Zenitsu; Kiyoshi now had something to  _ prove _ , to both Kaigaku  _ and _ himself.

At that moment, something changed within him, like a door unlocking. Kaigaku, in this moment keenly aware of Kiyoshi’s every movement, sensed it immediately and Breathed deep once more, leaping away from his foe as his instincts suddenly  _ screamed  _ “Danger!” .

_ ‘Breath of Thunder, Fourth Form: Distant Thunder!’ _

From Kaigaku’s blade bloomed tendrils of golden light, burning the very air in their haste to cross the gap between the two combatants. But even as the Chi lightning screamed across Jigoro Kuwajima’s front yard, Kiyoshi had already found it _ : _ that inscrutable, invaluable,  _ final _ piece of the puzzle that he was missing.

_ From the shadows, stealth. From the thunder, speed. From the fountainhead, formlessness.  _

When the seven bolts of false lightning impacted the space where Kiyoshi had been standing, he was long gone. Kaigaku cast around for his opponent, head snapping from side to side as he scanned the field. Abruptly, he realized that there was a spot that his eyes seemed to  _ slide off of _ , and almost on instinct raised his blade in that direction, but too little, too late. 

_ Become the knife in the dark, the shapeless blade of execution. _

A blade he could just barely hear but that his eyes refused to see snapped from its sheath, striking the bottom of his tightly-gripped blade and biting painfully into the meat of his hands. His own sword went flying, and all of a sudden Kiyoshi was in front of him, blade at his neck and false arm pinning his arms to his chest between them.

Kaigaku’s eyes bulged in anger as he—

“Enough!” Master Wolf barked, suddenly right beside the two of them. “You are weaponless and have a blade to your neck, boy. It is Kiyoshi’s win.”

For a moment, Kiyoshi thought that Kaigaku would either spontaneously combust or attack Master Wolf, but after a strangled growl, the ornery boy snatched up his blade from the ground and stormed indoors, briefly pausing at the door as he realized that Mister Kuwajima had returned to the porch and had been watching their exchange.

As Kiyoshi let out a shaky breath and sheathed his blade, he noticed Master Wolf and Mister Kuwajima exchange looks.

In all honesty, Kiyoshi could care less about the fact that he’d won the fight, now that he’d made a breakthrough. At long last, he’d figured out what his Breath style needed to be.

All that remained now was to choose an appropriate name…

Ah. He knew what it had to be. 

The “Breath of Silence” certainly seemed appropriate for a shinobi, no?

-x-x-x-x-x-

The remainder of their stay at Mister Kuwajima’s home was as awkward as it was uneventful; save for Master Wolf examining Zenitsu’s Chi in excruciating detail. Eventually, he declared that he was in no danger as long as the Raiju remained asleep, and requested that Mister Kuwajima alert him as quickly as possible if anything changed.

Kaigaku, for his part, only showed his face at mealtimes, spending every waking moment training in the forest, far out of sight of Kiyoshi. Strangely, after their fight, Kiyoshi felt as though he understood Kaigaku a bit more than he had before, and his anger towards the other boy had abated somewhat, being replaced by curiosity. Perhaps there was truth to that old belief about the best way to learn about a swordsman being to cross blades with them yourself...

Regardless, Kiyoshi spent the rest of the week trying to replicate and maintain the technique he’d performed against Kaigaku under the watchful gaze of Master Wolf, Mister Kuwajima, and Zenitsu, once the boy had calmed down. It wasn’t easy, but after hours of failed attempts and near-successes, Kiyoshi managed to slide back into that state.

Master Wolf managed to keep his eyes fixed on Kiyoshi without much trouble, but it took Mister Kuwajima a few tries to track him consistently. Meanwhile, poor Zenitsu could barely keep his eyes on Kiyoshi at all.

After analyzing the technique, both of his teachers came to the same conclusion: through a combination of Breathing, extreme focus, and precise flaring of Chi, Kiyoshi had figured out how to flex certain muscles in his body individually and independently in such a manner that it was unpleasant to the human eye to such a degree that the subconscious mind tried to force the brain to ignore it.

(That Kaigaku had realized that there was danger coming from a direction that his mind was trying desperately to ignore was a testament to how sharp his instincts were.)

In any case, Master Wolf and Mister Kuwajima were able to determine that Kiyoshi’s newly dubbed “Breath of Silence” seemed to specialize in controlling his body, especially micro-expressions and other such things that might give away his intent.

Further, Kiyoshi came up with a name for the first technique of his Breath style. Since the technique made it like the space he occupied didn't exist, he thought it only fitting to name it thus:

_ Breath of Silence: Void Mantle. _

Perhaps a bit ostentatious, but it wasn’t as though he would go about proclaiming it to the heavens like a character in a stage play; that would rather defeat the purpose of a stealth technique, after all!

All the same, with how eventful the week with Mister Kuwajima had been, he was rather glad when the time came to return home, though he tried his best to not let Zenitsu see his relief.

Once master and disciple returned to Miss Tamayo’s home, they fell back into their same training routine, the only major adjustments being adding about an hour to Kiyoshi’s Breath training time, now that he had a proper idea of what he ought to be focusing on. This extra hour was taken evenly from his sword training, his training with the Fang, and his study of medicine with Miss Tamayo.

Mister Yushiro took particular interest in his Void Mantle, as it produced a similar, if inferior, result as his own Blindfold technique. Having a fair amount of experience utilizing a stealth technique like this himself, his insights were invaluable to Kiyoshi, making him consider things that he’d have never thought of on his own. Slowly but surely, the Breath of Silence’s first technique gained polish, such that on occasion, Yushiro and even Miss Tamayo had to take a moment to find him again.

Master Wolf, of course, never once lost sight of him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

And so time passed, Spring coming full bloom and Summer approaching fast as the months flashed by. Kiyoshi further honed his Breath, though he’d yet to develop another technique for it, as well as his swordsmanship and his use of the Fang, beginning to learn how to use his blade and the prosthetic attachments in tandem.

He still visited Mister Kuwajima for a week each month, and though he made efforts to bridge the gap between himself and Kaigaku, the other boy was stubborn, and little progress was made. Progress of another sort  _ was  _ made, however, by Zenitsu, who had finally managed to perform the first form of the Breath of Thunder, Thunderclap and Flash. In spite of Mister Kuwjima saying that it still needed a lot of polish, neither Zenitsu nor Kiyoshi missed the pride that filled the old cultivator’s eyes upon seeing the accomplishment.

That night, the Kuwajima household feasted, and even Kaigaku was positive.

...Well. By  _ his  _ standards, at least.

_ “Huh. Maybe you’re good for something after all. Don’t get cocky, brat.” _

Other than that, little of note occurred during those training sessions, and time continued to pass.

By the time June came, Kiyoshi had started learning how to utilize the poisonous Sabimaru blade, as well as how to create an antidote for its effects, in case he accidentally cut himself on it. Master Wolf cautioned him that the Sabimaru’s poison wasn’t strong enough on its own to kill demons, but if he worked with Miss Tamayo, they could likely create something that  _ could _ .

And the very next week, as though fate had smiled upon their endeavors, Miss Tamayo’s household received a pair of visitors, one a familiar face, the other a perfect stranger.

“Oh, young Kiyoshi!” Kanae Kocho exclaimed, “I’m glad we didn’t miss you!” She gestured to her companion, a short but serious-faced girl with short-cropped black hair and deep violet eyes. Despite her small stature, she had what Kiyoshi immediately recognized to be a Nichirin blade at her hip. “I wanted you to be the first one to meet my adorable little sister, Shinobu!” Kanae pulled Shinobu into a hug, while the younger girl made a put-upon face and bowed as best she could while in her older sister’s clutches.

“It is good to meet you, Kiyoshi,” Shinobu Kocho declared firmly. “But sister, what about the reason I wanted to accompany you in the first place? These tall tales of a demon doctor living in harmony with humans was absurd enough, but to be trying to actually _ cure demons? _

“I have to meet this ‘Tamayo’ myself, if you want me to believe it.”

* * *

**AN: Once again, I must apologise for this being so late; I suppose all the IRL stuff has kinda got me down a bit, which makes it hard to focus. Hopefully the G I R T H of the chapter makes up a bit for its lateness, though!**


	13. Chapter 11: Dosage Alone

Chapter 11: Dosage Alone

After Shinobu Kochou demanded to meet Miss Tamayo, Kiyoshi led her and Miss Kanae into the house. Mister Yushiro seemed shocked to see Miss Kanae here once more, but not as shocked as Shinobu was to meet a demon who  _ didn’t _ reek of hostility and death. 

For her part, Miss Kanae seemed content to stay in the main hall and converse with Master Wolf, though how much conversation she would get from him was anybody’s guess.

Despite her surprise, however, she managed to regain her composure with a speed that bordered on unnatural. He couldn’t help but wonder what drove her to go so far, to be so serious and determined.

Not that Kiyoshi had any room to talk about unnatural maturity; he was starting to think that having to grow up far too fast and far too soon was part and parcel of being a Demon Slayer. From what little Master Wolf had said about the topic, this seemed to be a trait shared with shinobi.

Regardless, when they reached Miss Tamayo’s room, some small part of Shinobu’s facade seemed to recede. Once introductions had been made, Miss Tamayo encouraged Shinobu to stay and be a part of her lesson with Kiyoshi. Shinobu readily agreed; lessons passed down through hundreds of years from some of the brightest medical minds in the history of Japan—no, in the history of the whole  _ world _ , were a priceless boon.

And so it came as no surprise that Shinobu became a regular visitor to their home, coming by at first solely for medical studies and then also for advice regarding developing her Breath style, sometimes staying for weeks at a time. 

It was plain to see that it frustrated her, but even with the reinforcement provided by Total Concentration Breathing, Shinobu was simply too small, her arms too thin and frail, for her to effectively apply the Breath of Flowers.

Of course, this was where her medical expertise came in. While Shinobu would likely never be strong enough to decapitate even weaker demons with anything approaching real ease, her mind was razor keen and she had an uncanny talent for concocting medical tinctures and poultices. With the assistance and experience Miss Tamayo brought to the table (both in medicine and in swordplay), the two quickly began to develop a way for Shinobu to fight demons effectively: namely, with special poisons carefully made from wisteria, a deadly plant whose lethality was not constrained to humans alone.

Unsurprisingly, Shinobu’s talent with medicine also extended to the creation of toxins. As Miss Tamayo was so very fond of quoting, “All things are poison, and nothing is without poison. The dosage alone makes it so a thing is not a poison.”

When asked who she was quoting, Miss Tamayo merely smiled demurely and shook her head, much to both Kiyoshi and Shinobu’s collective consternation.

Though Miss Tamayo swiftly formed a bond with Shinobu, she certainly did not neglect Kiyoshi in favor of her new apprentice. In fact, the opposite was true. The lessons in swordplay Shinobu received were not lost on Kiyoshi; it was in the nature of a shinobi to appropriate skills and knowledge from whatever they encountered. As for the lessons on the effectiveness of wisteria poisons, well…

Master Wolf and he had begun the process of designing a new prosthetic attachment, as well as drawing up plans to alter another. Well, it would be more accurate to say that Master Wolf was making the designs, while simultaneously showing him how to make sure they were suitable for, as well as compatible with, the Shinobi Fang. 

Working on the Fang was an odd experience, Kiyoshi quickly realized. It was as much a test of physical engineering as it was of metaphysical, requiring him to not only ensure the materials he used were shaped, carved, or otherwise altered in such a way that they suited the Fang, but also that they suited his Chi. It made sense, though. The Shinobi Fang was far from just a false arm; it was every bit a marvel of alchemic sorcery as it was a wonder of medical technology.

Of course, as incredible as the device was, it still took time and effort to make certain that new attachments were suitable, so it would be a while yet before the wisteria oil smoke bombs and the toxin capsule for the Sabimaru were ready for more than preliminary testing.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Shinobu Kochou wasn’t quite sure what to make of Kiyoshi Ametsuchi at first, perhaps in part because of how much he reminded her of herself. He certainly carried himself more maturely and seriously than others their age, but yet…

Whenever he would fight or train, there was always a sharpness in his gaze and a weight to his presence. It wasn’t precisely  _ uncomfortable _ , but between his missing arm and the steel in his eyes, Shinobu was certain that his seriousness originated from somewhere different than hers did.

She pushed herself beyond her limits for the sake of someone she wanted to keep alive, but Kiyoshi…

Shinobu suspected that he surpassed himself time and time again for the sake of someone who no longer walked among the living. If that  _ was  _ the case, she couldn’t say she knew what he was going through, but she imagined it was agonizing.

As such, she treated Kiyoshi with courtesy and friendliness, and the shinobi-in-training reciprocated, albeit in his own subdued way.

Of course, their cordiality utterly vanished the moment they both set foot on the sparring field. Kiyoshi’s teachers thought it would be beneficial for two prospective Demon Slayers who were each developing their own Breath styles to face off against one another with regularity, especially since their respective skill levels were far closer to one another than they were to Doctor Tamayo, let alone the enigma that was Wolf.

Shinobu could see the logic in the idea, and as Kiyoshi seemed to have no objections to the idea, the two made a habit of sharpening their techniques on the edges of each other's blades. Of course, since Shinobu fought with highly deadly toxins and an extremely unorthodox blade, a system was implemented to simulate her having poisoned Kiyoshi. Rather than coating her blade in poison, she coated it in paint, and if she inflicted a sufficient number of marks on Kiyoshi, she was the winner. Of course, the number of marks varied depending on where she struck, and keeping up with Kiyoshi was no mean feat either.

His Breath of Silence might’ve only had one technique as compared to the two she’d worked out for her Breath of the Insect, but when combined with the bag of tricks Kiyoshi utilized in their spars, that made less difference than one might think. Add to that the fact that, as a derivative of the Breath of Thunder, the Breath of Silence emphasized speed over power, and fighting Kiyoshi was like trying to catch an oil-covered eel with only your teeth.

In other words, it was  _ perfect _ for honing her fledgling Breath, and judging by Kiyoshi’s own progress as time passed and their spars became more and more commonplace, she’d bet that he felt the same way as she did.

By the time Fall arrived, Shinobu had begun developing a third technique, had learned more about poisons and medicines in three months than she’d learned in the past _ four years _ , and had gained…

Well, she wasn’t quite sure. They’d spent enough time together that “acquaintance” felt far too impersonal by half, but there always seemed to be this...this  _ wall _ that surrounded Kiyoshi. It wasn’t something he was consciously doing, she could tell that much, but it nonetheless prevented her from connecting with him enough that she could call him “friend” and feel as though she was being honest with herself.

…

Whatever the intricacies and complexities of their relationship, Shinobu Kochou could say one thing for certain:

She was glad to have met Kiyoshi Ametsuchi.

-x-x-x-x-x-

After three long months of training, learning, and crafting, Kiyoshi and Master Wolf had finally put the finishing touches on the wisteria attachments for the Shinobi Fang. While the blue rust of the Sabimaru was deadly to humans (and apparently to “Ookami”, though Master Wolf never explained just what  _ that  _ meant), it was an annoyance at best to demons... _ alone _ , that is. 

When the blade was fitted with a cartridge that allowed highly concentrated wisteria oils to coat the blade and mix with that blue rust, it would be a different story—in theory, at least. Miss Tamayo had analyzed both the wisteria mixture and the Sabimaru’s blue rust extensively, and had determined that the two substances seemed to react well to one another, but there was no way to know for  _ certain _ until he used it on a demon.

As for the smoke bombs, getting the ratios of wisteria oil to reactant correct had been troublesome, but the end results were spectacular and deadly in equal measure. Of course, his ability to practice with these weapons was limited to training with Master Wolf, as they would be especially deadly to Miss Tamayo and Mister Yushiro, and Kaigaku’s hardiness was no match for Master Wolf’s.

Speaking of the ornery Breath of Thunder user, Kiyoshi had, through a combination of stubborn persistence and poking at the other boy’s ego, convinced him to spar with him again – multiple times, in fact. 

On the surface, Kaigaku seemed to be as gruff and unfriendly as ever...but as their spars continued, Kiyoshi began to understand him better. Simply being exposed to his life energy, clashing with it over and over, made him better able to understand it.

Kaigaku’s disdain towards Zenitsu’s temperament, his irritation at ‘sharing’ a teacher, his frustration at being incapable of the first and most basic of the Breath of Thunder’s forms—over time, it was all laid bare to Kiyoshi through a dance of steel and souls as easily as if Kaigaku had confided it to him verbally.

Kiyoshi still did not approve of how Kaigaku regarded Zenitsu (even if the elder pupil had seemed to ease up somewhat now that the younger was making tangible progress), but with understanding came empathy, and with empathy came greater understanding still.

Kiyoshi could not pretend to have experienced the things that had caused Kaigaku to close himself off so, but buried beneath all that spite, frustration, and arrogance, Kiyoshi was beginning to see the spark of good that Mister Kuwajima had no doubt seen when he’d take Kaigaku under his wing. It was dim and tinged with old, repressed guilt, but it was  _ there _ nonetheless. 

And that fact gave Kiyoshi a measure of hope. Hope that someone—it didn’t have to be him—could get through to Kaigaku, could peel away those layers bit by bit to uncover the spark of kindness lying dormant beneath.

Though neither Kiyoshi nor Kaigaku could really call one another “friend”, there was something approaching a bond being forged between them, forged of long hours of clashing blades and crackling souls. A bond of grudging, mutual respect for one another’s abilities and determination, and for now, that would suffice.

-x-x-x-x-x-

In a room hidden from even the most keen of observers, a man cursed. He cursed the weakness of the tools that he had brought into this world, had so graciously trained and honed into weapons only for them to be broken, one after another. He cursed the audacity of his last tool, that had believed itself to have its own will and thus abandoned him, taking with him three lesser tools as well.

But most of all, he cursed  _ that man _ , that wretched relic of the past that had nonetheless bested him with relative ease, had forced him to use one of his most precious tools of all.

His fists struck the black walls until his knuckles bled, one red blood and one green ichor, rage and betrayal filling him like the poison that had replaced the blood in one of his arms.

After a time, he ceased his pointless assault on the wall and slumped over, chest heaving. He was not motionless for long, however. Impossibly, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Someone else had entered his sanctum, his safehouse? 

_ Inconceivable _ . 

Heads would  _ roll _ once he found out who betrayed-

As he turned to face the intruder, he froze in place as he was pinned in place by a gaze.

No, by  _ the _ gaze. The crimson glare of Japan’s apex predator, slit-pupiled and shot through with so many veins the irises resembled cracked glass more than eyes.

Muzan Kibutsuji bared his teeth at Hanzou Uzui, and extended his hand.

After a moment, Hanzou knelt before the progenitor demon and bowed his head.

_ In the next instant, his skull was pierced and his world was fire. _


	14. Chapter 12: Roused Beast, Spread Wings

Chapter 12: Roused Beast, Spread Wings

As the air grew colder and Fall began its slow march into Winter, so too did Kaigaku begin to return to his disdainful way of treating Zenitsu. However much the younger boy honed the first form of their shared Breath style, all five of the other forms seemed to escape him, and this began to curdle any shreds of goodwill Zenitsu might have gained through learning the first technique.

Mister Kuwajima, though, was firm in his rebuttal of Kaigaku’s attitude. 

_ “If he can master even one technique, that is cause for great celebration. Even one technique can turn the tide of a battle in a flash,  _ as you well know. _ ” _

...

Kaigaku had been  _ especially _ vicious during the rest of their spars that month.

When Kiyoshi returned the following month, Kaigaku had bundled up his anger and frustration, burying it deep within himself beside all the rest. Even when they sparred, he released precious little of it, which was both good and bad. It was good because it meant he could set aside his emotions during battle if need be, but it was bad because it meant he was not letting those emotions have any outlet.

Kiyoshi knew enough about the mind and emotions (both from observation with his second sight and from studying with Miss Tamayo) to know that not allowing one's emotions some manner of release was asking for trouble. 

Much like over-filling a balloon, a person could only hold so much before they either ‘popped’ or ‘deflated’, so to speak. A destructive cycle or a depressive one, one of Miss Tamayo’s many books had called them.

Whatever one labeled it, Kiyoshi did not want to see Kaigaku reach that breaking point, both for his sake  _ and  _ for Zenitsu’s. The younger boy  _ was _ doing better in having confidence in himself, this was undeniable, but Kiyoshi could tell that the confidence was as fragile as spun glass. It made Kiyoshi feel so terribly helpless, but however insightful he might be, he had no clue what he could  _ possibly _ do to help either of them.

But then, on the day of the first snowfall of Winter, everything changed. 

Kiyoshi and Master Wolf were at Mister Kuwajima’s home and Kiyoshi was sparring with Kaigaku, as usual. Master Wolf was watching over them, as usual. And Mister Kuwajima was training Zenitsu on the other side of his home,  _ as usual _ .

As grey clouds rolled in, fat with snow, a subtle energy seemed to permeate the air. When the first snow of the year fell, though, that energy lost every ounce of its subtlety.

Azure lightning leapt soundlessly skyward from behind the house, dancing from snowflake to snowflake as it climbed to the heavens. And this was no false lightning, born of Chi; no, this was something primal and elemental, something that had been ancient when Master Wolf had been born. Kiyoshi could  _ feel  _ it, from the tips of his fingers to the deepest marrow of his bones.

-x-x-x-x-x-

As Kaigaku and Kiyoshi stood thunderstruck, spar long-forgotten, Wolf was moving. Before the raiju (for what else could it have been) even reached the clouds, the old shinobi was on the roof, Kusabimaru drawn from his hip and brandished at the storm.

Had it been anyone else, the idea of threatening a storm with a mere sword would have been laughable. But this was Wolf. He’d stared down worse and won.

His confidence was vindicated mere moments later, as when the raiju dove back down from the clouds on a course for Zenitsu, Wolf leapt to meet it, catching the azure lightning along the edge of the blade and flinging it to the ground well away from all three of the students. 

Kuwajima, for his part, had drawn his own blade, barely restrained Chi-lightning crackling along its edge, eager for release. Cultivator and shinobi advanced in tandem even as the raiju took material form, less an animal and more a crackling sapphire blur in the  _ shape _ of an animal. The sole thing that stood out from its coat of undulating blue lightning were its eyes, golden slits with pupils the exact blackened grey of a thundercloud fit to burst.

The sound it made as they approached...if it had been a normal animal, it probably would have been a howl, but what echoed from its jaws was nothing less than a clap of thunder. The air itself shook in response to its cry, but neither Wolf nor Kuwajima were deterred by the sound.

What  _ did _ stop them in their tracks, however, was the golden-blonde boy who had interposed himself between them and the raiju, arms outstretched. Wolf could see the blood leaking from Zenitsu’s ears courtesy of the beast’s howl, but even through the pain he had to be in, the boy—no, the  _ young man’s _ expression held strong. As the duo looked on, the raiju calmed, and rubbed up against Zenitsu’s leg gently, as though in affection.

…

No, that  _ was _ affection; Wolf could feel it. The raiju did not hold a single grain of hostility towards Zenitsu. Its emotions towards him were comparable to Tamayo’s towards Kiyoshi; that is to say,  _ maternal _ . For whatever reason, this divine wolf had decided that Zenitsu was her cub, and Wolf suspected there wasn’t a thing they could do about that. 

As he sheathed his blade, he mused to himself. It really did seem that the bearers of the Fang, as well as those who came close to them, would forever live in  _ interesting  _ times.

-x-x-x-x-x-

After the raiju awakened and had been... _ awkwardly _ welcomed into Mister Kuwajima’s household (though it still spent much of its time asleep within Zenitsu’s navel), Zenitsu began to change. The changes were slow and subtle at first: he ate more messily, his hair was perpetually frizzy and seemed to hold a static charge, and his fingernails seemed to grow faster.

One day, though, when Kaigaku tossed an (honestly rather halfhearted) insult his way, rather than simply hanging his head and taking it, he rejoined with a too-calm comment about Kaigaku’s behavior shaming their teacher. The two took their dispute outside, with Kiyoshi following behind out of concern for the two of them. 

None of them noticed it at that time, but left behind on the table were eight thin scrapes, separated into two sets of four. The marks were reminiscent of claw marks, and were left in the very spot where Zenitsu had been gripping the table as he stood up to Kaigaku.

As the two fought, it quickly became clear that something more was  _ off _ with Zenitsu. It was as though two pairs of instincts were warring for dominance in his fighting style: his swordsmanship instincts, honed over countless hours of practice, and something more base and primal.

When Kiyoshi looked with his second sight, it became clear to him. Though the raiju was, as usual, asleep, its awakening and subsequent activity had not left Zenitsu unchanged. Its life force was bleeding into Zenitsu, making him... _ more. _

To his credit, Zenitsu seemed to come to the same realization as Kiyoshi mere moments later. Rather than redoubling his focus and trying to reclaim his center, though, the younger boy seemed to  _ let go _ .

In the next instant, Zenitsu’s body, formerly wreathed in golden Chi-lightning,  _ erupted  _ with azure light, a jagged mantle of the raiju’s lightning wrapping around him like a mother’s embrace. 

He exploded forward, a shooting star made of sapphire light. His blade met Kaigaku’s with a noise like a clap of thunder, pushing his senior student backwards with great force even as he darted after him, unrelenting. 

Though momentarily off-balance, Kaigaku regained his footing swiftly and rejoined battle, matching Zenitsu blow for blow. As flashes of gold and blue lit the clearing, their blades met again and again, exchanging dozens of blows in the span of a few seconds. While Kaigaku’s strikes were all too familiar to Zenitsu, they were nonetheless enacted with such speed and exacting precision that he could not gain a decisive advantage.

Zenitsu’s strikes, on the other hand, could scarcely be called techniques at all, and perhaps that was why they allowed him to match his senior disciple despite being so much less practiced than Kaigaku. Each movement chained into the next smoothly and without pause as Zenitsu’s body moved without giving heed to thought.

_ ‘Instinct!’ _ Kiyoshi realized abruptly. Even more than lending him her lightning, the raiju was helping Zenitsu fight and move completely instinctually, cutting his reaction time down to nearly nothing. When combined with Zenitsu’s already more than passable use of Full Focus Breathing, well...

The result was  _ breathtaking _ .

Of course, no matter how much the raiju’s support may have helped even the odds, the simple fact of the matter was that Kaigaku had several years of training on his side, and while that may not have helped him out-technique Zenitsu, it  _ did  _ allow him to out _ last _ the younger boy. All too soon, Zenitsu began to flag, the speed and power leaving his limbs. All it took was a single slip-up, one strike parried a fraction of a second too slowly, and Zenitsu’s sword was flung from his hands as he fell on his rear.

Nothing could have prepared Kiyoshi for what he saw next, though. Kaigaku, standing victorious over Zenitsu once more,  _ was smiling _ . Granted, it was a vicious, hungry smile; the smile of one who loved (and was loved by) battle, but still. Kaigaku.  _ Smiling. _

_ At Zenitsu! _

And what was more,  _ Zenitsu was smiling back! _ Sure, his smile was far less feral than Kaigaku’s was, but there was still a hint of bloodthirst in it.

As Kaigaku reached down and pulled Zenitsu to his feet, he spoke to his junior. Kiyoshi strained his ears to hear, but the two were simply too far away for him to make it out.

Whatever had passed between the two of them that Winter’s day, though, had totally changed the way they interacted with one another. Like his own relationship with Kaigaku, he would hesitate to call it a friendship, but there was a distinct absence of hostility between them.

Oh, sure, Kaigaku would still snipe at Zenitsu, but unlike before, there was never any heat in it, and Zenitsu would often as not return fire himself.

Mister Kuwajima, for his part, seemed delighted that his students had reached something resembling a truce, though he was notably concerned about the primal, possession-like state Zenitsu had entered during that fight.

He’d turned to Master Wolf for advice, considering the wealth of experience Kiyoshi’s teacher had in such things. Master Wolf’s answer was both heartening and concerning in equal measure. He confirmed that the raiju’s presence and actions  _ were _ changing Zenitsu, but they were  _ not _ making him inhuman. The Thunder God’s hound was merely... _ adding _ to what was already within Zenitsu, not stripping anything away. It was no more danger to him than training with a sword was.

As Kiyoshi had noted before, Zenitsu was simply becoming... _ more _ .

Mister Kuwajima digested this, and thought long and hard about what to do. It was nearly the end of their week together before the cultivator came to a decision.

Zenitsu would continue to train in the Breath of Thunder as normal. However! The instinctive state Zenitsu had entered was too powerful a boon to ignore, and as such, whenever Master Wolf and Kiyoshi came to train with them, Zenitsu would spend the week under Master Wolf’s care just as Kiyoshi spent the week under Mister Kuwajima’s.

Zenitsu would hone that state to its utmost limit, just as he would hone the first form of the Breath of Thunder during the rest of their training. He would harness this boon and make it his own, a weapon he could call on even without the assistance of the raiju.

Zenitsu agreed, determination in his eyes.

Everyone around him finally believed in him,  _ even Kaigaku _ . He  _ couldn’t  _ fail with all of them behind him.

He  _ would _ master the raiju’s Wild Thunder.

-x-x-x-

Not much of note occured for the next few months, with Kiyoshi alternating between learning about a new attachment for the Fang and working on developing a new technique for his Breath style that utilized the Fang’s grapnel.

However, once Spring rolled around and the flowers were in full bloom, Miss Tamayo’s home received a familiar pair of visitors. The Kochou siblings had come calling once more, and this time, Shinobu was dressed in the same black uniform that Miss Kanae wore under her butterfly-wing haori.

Apparently, Shinobu had passed the Final Selection, the test of skill that determined if someone would be admitted into the Demon Slayer Corps. Shinobu, despite her being the same age as Kiyoshi (a mere thirteen years), had passed with ease. This was as much of a testament to her personal skill as it was to the advantage of having a Pillar as a teacher, even if Shinobu’s Breath of Insects differed dramatically from the Breath of Flowers from which it was originally derived.

Of course, Kiyoshi congratulated Shinobu, and the odd little family that had gathered within Miss Tamayo’s house had a modest celebration. For the first time in a while, Kiyoshi was able to let his grudge fall into the back of his mind and simply enjoy himself.

Alas, their collective happiness was fleeting, as a mere six months later, tragedy struck.


	15. Chapter 13: Wilting

Chapter 13: Wilting

It was rare, Kiyoshi learned, for there to be a body to bury when a Demon Slayer fell in the field. Rarer still was it that their funeral was attended by so many; funerals for the members of the Corps were usually quiet, somber affairs, attended by family members alone.

However, the death of a  _ Pillar _ was something else entirely. Any who reached that exalted rank, who sat among the strongest of the strong, was a symbol to the rest of the organization. They weren’t called Pillars without reason; they bore the morale and hopes of all of the other Demon Slayers on their backs, being strong so that others might have time to be weak.

Thus, the funeral of a Pillar was equal parts an expression of mourning and an affirmation of everything that the Pillar had accomplished in life, from demons slain to lives saved and everything in between. It served to remind those left behind that life was a fleeting, yet beautiful thing, and that it  _ must _ be safeguarded.

Miss Kanae’s funeral was no different. 

Though the tone of the event was as grey and somber as the heavily overcast weather, as Miss Kanae had been well-liked by every member of the Corps that had met her, there was still an air of...not quite  _ hope _ , but quiet determination. A determination that her death would not be in vain, that the Corps would prevail, and to a select few present, a determination that there would be cooperation between humans and those precious few demons who were not under Muzan’s thrall.

Save for himself and Master Wolf, everyone present at the funeral was a member of the Corps. The bulk of the attendees were  _ kakushi _ , non-combatant members of the Corps who nonetheless filled a number of vital roles: those of the battlefield medic, the physician and the mortician. 

The reason that so many of them were attending Miss Kanae’s funeral?

Despite Miss Kanae’s relative lack of knowledge when it came to medicine and taking care of the ill and injured, her family had run the Butterfly Mansion, the central base of the kakushi, for generations. It was no surprise, then, that every one of them was exuding an air of loss and sorrow. Miss Kanae had been so incredibly kind; it was no wonder that they cared enough about her to mourn.

Other than the kakushi, there were a few, more distinct strangers in attendance. A grey-haired man wearing a bright red  _ tengu _ mask and a sky-blue, cloud-patterned kimono was present, bringing with him a dark-haired, kind-eyed girl in a pink, flower-patterned kimono. As Kiyoshi met her turquoise eyes, he noted that she looked to be about his age. 

On the opposite side of the older man was a much younger man, perhaps just on the cusp of adulthood. The most immediately distinctive thing about him was his haori: it was stitched together from two halves of two different garments. The right half was a plain vermillion, while the left was covered in a pattern of checkered green and yellow shapes. His hair was dark and pulled back into a ponytail, and his dark blue eyes carried a deep sadness.

The masked man’s Chi resonated as strongly as Mister Kuwajima’s had, though rather than a tiger made of thunder, his took the shape of an ocean-sized dragon made of water. The girl was clearly being trained by him, judging by the swirl of water within her own Chi.

As for the man in the patchwork haori, his Chi too carried the shape of water, and strained though it was by a lack of self-worth, it was as vast and still as a lake.

Each of their emotions carried different flavors of sorrow unique to them.The kind-eyed girl merely seemed somber, but no particular personal ties were present in her sadness. The younger of the two men felt a more personal sense of sorrow and regret, one tied both to the present  _ and _ to the past.

The masked man, however,  _ radiated _ a deep, old pain, as though Miss Kanae’s death had torn numerous old wounds back open within the deepest corners of his heart.

However, the final three people attended the funeral, and the three who knelt directly before Miss Kanae’s grave, were the ones whose sorrow filled the rest of the cemetery. The first was another young girl Kiyoshi didn’t recognize, this one appearing to be closer to Zenitsu’s age than his own. She knelt to the left side of the grave, hands folded in her lap and violet eyes staring blankly, numbly at the grave marker.

Her emotional state was as unnerving as her glassy-eyed stare. Despite the grief and despair Kiyoshi could clearly sense within the shattered shell of her heart, her face was impassive. It was as though she had forgotten  _ how _ to emote, how emotions should even impact her.

Kiyoshi did not know what kind of treatment could lead to such horrible damage to a person’s spirit, but he could  _ sense _ where old wounds had begun to heal, ever so slowly. Whoever this girl was, she was in good hands.

The second person knelt at the right side of the grave, hands clasped in prayer before him. Kagaya Ubuyashiki too, did not allow his grief to show on his face, but Kiyoshi was sure that all present could  _ feel _ his sorrow nonetheless. His grief was that of a parent having to bury one of their children; despite the fact that he’d no doubt had to bury countless members of the Corps, despite the fact that the Corps were not related to him by blood, he grieved as a parent nonetheless.

There was no doubt in Kiyoshi’s mind that  _ this _ was why every member of the Corps adored the man: every bit of the grief in his heart was genuine, as was every bit of the  _ love _ . How could anyone stand before this boundless, overwhelming, familial love and  _ not  _ be moved?

The last person, kneeling directly in front of her elder sister’s grave, was of course Shinobu. Miss Kanae’s butterfly-patterned haori was draped around her shoulders as though in gentle embrace, a final, fleeting touch from a beloved sibling taken far too soon.

Though Shinobu tried to put on a brave face, it was clear to more than just Kiyoshi that she was on the verge of being overwhelmed. Her shoulders shook with shackled, tearless sobs as she refused to show weakness, even on this worst of days.

To Kiyoshi and Master Wolf’s eyes alone, though, the whole picture was revealed. Certainly, her grief ran deeper than the deepest sea, but it was not grief alone that wracked her form. No, her heart was equally steeped and submerged in an emotion all-too familiar to Kiyoshi:  _ hatred _ .

In that singular moment of observing her Chi, Kiyoshi knew that whatever demon had stolen Miss Kanae from the world would be slain by Shinobu’s hand, or Shinobu would die trying.

_ After all, was his grudge not the same? _

-x-x-x-

After perhaps half an hour of silence, Mister Ubuyashiki rose to his feet and addressed all present, his voice somber but carrying powerful, indelible emotion.

“Kanae Kochou,” he began, his one functional eye scanning the gathered mourners. “She was our Flower Pillar, our Mistress of the Butterfly Mansion, and our dearest, cherished family member. But that was not all that Kanae was; she had hopes and dreams outside of being a Demon Slayer, and an ambition born of purest kindness.” He closed his eyes, both functional and not. “Kanae embodied the best aspects of humanity.”

He spread his arms wide and looked to the grey heavens. “Kindness. Charity. Hope. Love. Mercy. A precious few of you know what her dream was.” He paused and looked between Shinobu, Kiyoshi and Master Wolf, drawing stares to the master and disciple duo from all in attendance.

“Her dream,” Mister Ubuyashiki continued, effortlessly regaining the attention of those present, “was that demons and humans could live in harmony.”

Almost immediately, a buzz of chatter rose from those present, though the masked man and the young man in the asymmetric haori did not contribute, nor did Shinobu or the girl at her side. 

As immediately as the murmurs began, though, they were silenced. Not by a shout, whistle, or word, but by a single pale finger raised to thin lips. With a single motion, Mister Ubuyashiki regained the attention of more than three-score people.

“Some of you might label this dream foolishly optimistic, the idealism of a kind-hearted but naive woman.” He smiled softly. “Allow me to disabuse you of this notion. Firstly, Kanae Kochou could scarcely have become a Pillar if she was naive, no?”

Based on the number of nods coming from the crowd, they seemed to accept this logic.

“Secondly…” Mister Ubuyashiki raised an arm towards the back of the crowd, making a beckoning motion.

The kakushi parted like a stream around a rock as two figures moved forward through them, several of the closest recoiling in shock as the registered just who—no, just  _ what _ was passing them by.

Both the masked man and the man in the patchwork haori had gone for their blades the moment Miss Tamayo and Mister Yushiro emerged from the crowd, but froze in place as Master Wolf fixed them with a  _ look _ . Kiyoshi flinched as the weight of ancient Chi crashed down upon the duo, despite him not being the focus of the energy.

Master Wolf held the glare only for an instant, but it was long enough for Mister Ubuyashiki to finish speaking.

“Secondly, _ there are already those among demonkind who are working to aid the Demon Slayer Corps.” _

If the earlier burst of conversation was a buzz, this one was a  _ roar _ .

-x-x-x-x-x-

Shinobu sighed deeply as the tension left her body and she allowed herself to finally weep.

After the Master’s announcement, the majority of those attending the funeral were corralled by Tomioka and his teacher, then led into the Butterfly Mansion to be informed of the situation and coming changes by the Master himself. Tamayo and Wolf had followed, leaving only Kiyoshi, Tomioka’s junior, and the demon named Yushiro there with her and Kanao.

She did not mind if Kiyoshi saw her vulnerable like this; she had a feeling he would understand. Yushiro had politely averted his eyes as she grieved, and Tomioka’s junior had come over to the right side of the grave, which was unoccupied by Kanao, and knelt there, nothing but kindness in her eyes.

Kiyoshi himself knelt a pace away, to her left side, and remained silent. In his silence, though, there was comfort, understanding, solidarity. “You are not alone,” the silence seemed to say.

After a time, her tears dried up and she merely sat silently, wanting desperately to thank them for being there but not knowing  _ how _ .

It was at this moment that Yushiro walked quietly to her right side, a bundle in his hands. He set the bundle on the grave and unraveled the white cloth to reveal a funeral bouquet. The brilliant crimson of red spider lilies and camellias was contrasted by the pure white of chrysanthemums. 

Flowers of final partings, of a noble death, and of purity of heart.

_ Shinobu herself couldn’t have chosen better. _

Quietly, gently, Yushiro spoke, not looking at Shinobu at all. “From Lady Tamayo and I. Your sister…” He paused, seeming to search for the words he needed. “Lady Tamayo was devastated to learn that she was killed, though she might not show it. As for me…” His fists clenched at his sides as he turned to regard her, eyes alight and intense. “I may not have known her well, but her death is nothing less than a tragedy.” His voice was hoarse and choked with emotion that seemed to surprise even him.

“If ever you need anything, from  _ either  _ of us, do not hesitate to ask.”

Shinobu stared at Yushiro for a long moment, then nodded as tears returned to her eyes in full force.

_ “Thank you.” _

* * *

**AN:...Well, this chapter wasn’t ever going to be ** ** _light_ ** **, but geez. I didn’t anticipate it to grow into ** ** _this!_ ** ** Hope you enjoy.**


	16. Interlude: Doubt and Trust

Interlude: Doubt and Trust

The room was dim, lit only by the flickering flames of wax candles. Likewise, the moods of those gathered within the room were dark as well, flickering shadows playing across too-serious faces and granting five of the six gathered Pillars visages not unlike the very demons they hunted. Only Giyu Tomioka seemed untroubled, but then, he rarely showed emotion in the first place.

To one side, a pair of individuals knelt. One a stranger, dressed in a plain kimono and missing an arm, yet radiating a sense of danger beyond anything any of them had ever experienced; the other a familiar face wearing the haori of their fallen sixth member over her uniform.

The source of the Pillars’ disquiet was plain to see, however: a third unexpected guest. She was unknown to them, this petite woman who knelt beside their revered Master, Kagaya Ubuyashiki. She was serene, quiet, and unmistakably a  _ demon _ . The sole thing keeping their blades at bay was the word of that same Master, who had spoken four simple words.

_ Calm yourselves, and listen. _

And so, despite their misgivings, despite their instincts screaming at them, despite the fact that an example of their organization’s mortal enemies sat calmly within the same room as them, they did as they were bidden. They did not all do it gladly, three members in particular displaying a great deal of agitation. All three were young men, but by appearances and mannerisms they couldn’t have differed more. 

The first was a short, black-haired boy whose mouth and nose were obscured by bandages. A white snake coiled around his neck and flicked its tongue out every now and again, tasting the air inquisitively. His hands were obscured by the lengthy sleeves of his black and white striped haori, and his dual-colored eyes flicked around the room. Clear blue left and sickly, slit-pupiled yellow alternated between looking at his fellow Pillars, the demon among them, the unfamiliar swordsman and their Master.

Obanai Iguro, the Snake Pillar, was twitchy and out of his depth, and that only served to make him more dangerous.

The second man remained absolutely still. Were it not for the hatred in his pale blue eyes and the slight rise and fall of his scarred chest, visible through his open uniform jacket, one might have mistaken him for a corpse. The white-haired swordsman barely blinked as his manic, murderous gaze bored into the demon, and yet she did not so much as react.

Of course, this only served to enrage the Wind Pillar, Sanemi Shinuzagawa, even more.

The third man, much taller than the previous two, seemed to be caught in a state between the two extremes. The entirety of the white-haired man’s body was in a state of complete calm, but his face quivered and twitched as he attempted to suppress his emotions. However, the oddest part of the flashily dressed man’s state was the  _ target _ of his unease. The demon in the room seemed to barely register to him.

No, Tengen Uzui was far more focused on the presence of the one armed swordsman. Even had he not known his face, the fact that the Sound Pillar couldn’t even begin to compose a Score from the man’s conscious and subconscious movements was in and of itself a  _ massive _ alarm bell.

The other two Pillars’ temperaments were equally firm, but in very different ways. The youngest man present was also arguably the most distinctive of the five, with fiercely pointed eyebrows, golden hair tipped in a crimson that evoked the image of flame, and wide, expressive eyes of matching coloration. A white haori that darkened to a similar flame pattern hung regally from his shoulders as he crossed his arms before him.

Everything about Kyojuro Rengoku radiated  _ intensity _ , but in spite of that, the Flame Pillar’s feelings on the matter at hand were far harder to parse.

The final Pillar was by far the most massive, towering over everyone present by a large margin. Blank, blind eyes stared at nothing even as the titan’s life energy quested about the room, enveloping, examining, and informing him of the nature of everything within it. If the titanic pressure of the one-armed man’s Chi affected him, he did not allow it to show on his face, instead showing a stern visage that could well have been carved instead of birthed.

Two massive palms rubbed at a string of red prayer beads as Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Pillar, considered the impossibility before him.

It was at that moment that the silence was broken, not by the too-calm Wind Pillar, nor the too-tense Snake Pillar, nor even by the revered Master himself, but by the demon who sat at the Master’s side.

“I am certain that the five of you have a number of questions,” she began, her voice calm, clear, and devoid of hostility. “However, allow me the opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Tamayo, and—”

“You are a demon,” Kyojuro Rengoku interrupted, “and a powerful one at that! We Pillars are more than capable of sensing that much, you know?!” There was precious little hostility in his tone, despite the man’s forceful intensity. 

The Flame Pillar seemed prepared to continue speaking, but a single finger raised to the Master’s lips was enough to prompt the man to slam his forehead into the wooden floor. As he prostrated himself in apology, he all but shouted, “Forgive me, revered Master! I spoke without thinking!”

Kagaya merely smiled, shook his head, and gently rebuked, “Raise your head, Kyojuro.” The intense man did as he was instructed, ignoring both the blood trickling down his forehead from the force of his forehead’s impact against the floor and the incredulous stares of two of his peers. (Gyomei had no way of staring at the man, Tengen approved of Rengoku’s ‘flamboyant enthusiasm’, and Giyu’s mind was a dozen miles away.)

Now that the grim mood was shaken by the Flame Pillar’s eccentricity, the Master took the floor. “It is as you say, Kyojuro. Tamayo is indeed a demon, and one who the Ubuyashiki family has been aware of since the last vassals of the Ashina married into our family over two hundred years ago.” Kagaya gave a slight smile. “However, I am the first of my family to have actually sought her out and conversed with her.” His gaze turned to the one-armed man. “At first, I conversed with her by proxy, but soon enough we met in person.”

The stranger, now the center of attention, raised his head and met the gaze of each Pillar in turn, save for Gyomei. Instead, he allowed his Chi to brush up against the blind man’s by way of greeting.

He paused briefly as his eyes met the Snake Pillars’, eyes narrowing fractionally as they flicked between Obanai’s serpentine right eye and the albino snake that coiled around his neck.

Obanai froze in place under the stranger’s steely gaze, feeling like a mouse before a great serpent for the first time since…

For the first time in a  _ long  _ time.

Mercifully, the moment passed, and the one-armed swordsman’s gaze turned to the Master. After a long moment, the man nodded, and the Master spoke again, this time a single word.

_ “Sekiro.” _

Obanai’s eyes  _ bulged _ as his head snapped over to regard the man once more. Whatever thoughts he might have had to voice, though, were lost in the cacophony of questions that erupted from Sanemi and Kyojuro.

Tengen, for his part, said nothing, merely lowering his head as what he already knew to be the truth was confirmed once again.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki was able to restore order easily enough, though, and after Wolf had explained shortly how he yet lived, the topic of conversation once more fell to the elephant in the room—or rather, the demon. 

“Now,” Ubuyashiki said, clapping his hands together, “on to the most pressing matter. The fact that my family has been aware of a particular demon for centuries and has seemingly done nothing about her is oddity enough, to be sure. However, I ask that you hear what Tamayo has to say before making any judgements about her.”

It was abundantly clear that this sat ill with more than one of the Pillars, but none made it more obvious than Sanemi. However, the Wind Pillar managed to hold his tongue, even as his hateful gaze remained fixed on Tamayo.

Ever iron-willed, Tamayo acted as though she was not the target of his hostility, and explained, “I am a demon, this is an undeniable fact. However, before I am a demon, before I am a woman, I am a doctor first and foremost.” She inclined her head solemnly. “The greatest sickness, the chief disease, the plague among plagues that runs rampant across this land: what else could it be but Muzan Kibutsuji?”

Tamayo’s head rose once more, fire and steel in her lavender eyes. “As such, it is my duty as a doctor to eradicate all traces of that man, as well as his wretched affliction, from this land.” She exhaled, uncurling fists she scarcely recalled making and folding her hands in her lap. “Of course, my motivations are not entirely selfless by any stretch of the imagination. Muzan took my humanity from me, and…” Her voice caught in her throat, and she could not find the words to speak.

Kagaya laid his hand upon her shoulder with a gentle, sad smile, causing half of the room to tense at the contact. Tamayo, of course, did nothing to validate their all-too-understandable paranoia and merely closed her eyes and brought her sleeve to her face as she regained her composure. 

Unnoticed by all, Gyomei’s empty eyes filled with unshed tears as the overpowering, unending  _ grief _ poured from the demon—no, the  _ woman _ before them. It was in that instant of genuine, agonizing,  _ painfully  _ human emotion that Gyomei was swayed. After all, the Stone Pillar may have been as vast and imposing as a mountain, but it was nearly impossible not to have empathy of a matching size when the very way you perceived the world was inherently tied to the emotions of those around you.

After taking a few minutes, Tamayo reopened her eyes and spoke again. “My apologies. Time does not heal all wounds, it seems.” A melancholic smile quirked her lips upwards as she continued, “As I said, I have two objectives in this life—nay, two things I  _ will _ make into a reality: the death of Muzan Kibutsuji, and a treatment to return those who have become demons to their human forms.”

At this, Sanemi ground his teeth, then all but growled, “So what?! You’re still a man-eating demon, aren't you?!”

“Sanemi—” the Master began, reproof in his voice, but Tamayo raised a hand. “No, Sir Ubuyashiki; his question is a fair one.” She pressed that hand to her collarbone, then replied, “I am a demon, but due to the teachings of my mother, Emma the Physician, I have managed to make modifications to my body that reduce my need for blood to an insignificant amount. Before, I purchased blood from donors who consented and needed the income. However, after I was introduced to the late Kanae, she offered to supply me so that my money could go towards funding my research—”

When Kanae’s name was brought up, Sanemi had stilled, but now he was shaking with barely shackled rage. “So what yer sayin’,” he spat, his accent and speech patterns losing all traces of refinement, “Is that besides bein’ a naive fool, Kochou was a traitor!”

As the words left his lips, an unnatural quiet descended upon the room.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The moment the words left Sanemi’s mouth, he wished he could snatch them back. Of course he didn’t think that about the deceased Flower Pillar; she’d been one of the only people he’d even been  _ able _ to drop his mask around, to confide in. She was very much the elder sister of all of the Pillars, even if she was younger than Gyomei.

No, he didn’t believe for a moment that Kanae Kochou had been naive  _ or  _ a traitor. But Sanemi was at least self-aware enough to know that he dealt with anger and grief in a really shitty way, and he’d definitely put his foot in it n—

_ He couldn’t breathe. _

In the space between thoughts, a phantom pressure closed around his throat like the jaws of some invisible insect—and that was when he knew.

_ Her voice was sweet as wisteria and ten times as poisonous, her smile the stinger of a great sparrow bee poised ready to strike right over his eye. _

“Sir Shinuzagawa,” Shinou Kochou said with the serenity and regal coldness of Death’s handmaiden, “forgive my presumption, but were it I who spoke, I would choose my words regarding the dead with more care, particularly when those who cherished them are also the very same as those who ensure my health and wellness following dangerous missions.”

Sanemi Shinuzagawa didn’t frighten easily; far from it, in fact. Years of using his rare blood to lure demons and incapacitate them long before he even knew what a Demon Slayer was ensured that his nerve was firm, if nothing else.

_ But none of that mattered. _

This miniscule girl, a swordswoman so physically frail she could not even decapitate demons, had frozen him with her malice. One of the top-ranked Kinoto or not, former Tsuguko or not, Sanemi hadn’t felt terror like this since the  _ thing _ that had stolen the form of his mother tried to tear his face off.

As infuriating as it was to feel this helpless…

_ Sanemi understood. _

If  _ anyone _ had spoken ill of Genya in his presence, he damn sure wouldn’t have been anywhere near as collected as Shinobu Kochou was.

Even as he resented the way her malice oppressed his very being, Sanemi felt his respect for the petite girl—no,  _ woman _ , rise a few notches.

She’d make Pillar soon, there was no doubt in his mind.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Sanemi,” the Master chided, “I realize that you, too, are grieving Kanae’s death, but it is  _ especially  _ in times like these that you must master your emotions, not the other way around.”

The heavily scarred young man pressed his forehead to the wooden floor in apology, not nearly matching the force of Kyojuro’s earlier prostration, but certainly matching his sincerity. When he replied to the rebuke, his voice was even more formal than the first time he’d spoken. “It is as you say, revered Master. A thousand pardons.”

After motioning for Sanemi to raise his head, Kagaya turned to Shinobu. “Shinobu. I will not ask you to forgive him, but I will request that you refrain from acting on your implied retribution. This family could ill use a schism.”

Shinobu inclined her head deeply. “As you say, revered Master. Forgive me; my temper escaped me for a moment.”

The Master smiled gently, sadly. “In the wake of her loss, I think all of us are out of sorts. No matter how many times you see your children die…”

“It never becomes any easier,” Tamayo finished for him, a somber expression on her face. This, of course, drew the focus of the room back to her. This time, it was neither Sanemi nor Rengoku who spoke, but Obanai. His speech was slightly muffled by the bandages covering his face and nose, but not so much as to render him unintelligible. 

“Regarding allying with this demon, revered Master, I just can’t comprehend it. I don’t trust her; I  _ can’t _ trust her, not after what I’ve seen and experienced.” He glanced at his fellow Pillars. “And other than Tomioka, who seems to be as unconcerned as ever, I doubt I’m the only one who feels this way.” The addressed Water Pillar gave no reaction to his associate’s comment.

Eyes filled with fervor, Kyojuro declared, “I find myself at a loss, revered Master! I trust in you with everything within me, but the idea of allying with a demon is absolute lunacy in my eyes!”

Gyomei interjected, his voice somber and his tone slow and exacting. “In any other circumstance, I would agree with you, Sir Iguro. But as you know, I do not see with my eyes. My spirit is my vision, and there is no deceit in this woman’s words or conviction. I accept your decision, revered Master.” The giant of a man rubbed his prayer beads together between his palms. “I can only pray that this alliance does not end in suffering.  _ Namu amida butsu. _ ”

Uzui, unusually subdued, shortly offered, “I am opposed to this, but I can see that you will not be swayed, Master.”

Sanemi refrained from speaking, though his opposition was plain to see in his eyes.

Giyu, briefly brought back to reality by this discourse, commented quietly, “I trust in your judgement, Master.”

After all of the Pillars had their say, Kagaya spoke again. “I understand your grievances, my children. Know that your words have not fallen on deaf ears.  _ However _ .” Steel gleamed in the Master’s one functional eye. “If it is to defeat Muzan Kibutsuji, I will open my arms to any and all who would stand against him, no matter who or what they might be. So long as they do no harm to my precious children, I will ally even with the damned denizens of Avici.

“I cannot ask that you trust Tamayo,” he continued, “but I will ask that you trust  _ me. _ Can you do that? Obanai, Sanemi?”

Sanemi closed his eyes and exhaled. For a long moment, he was silent, then he bowed his head and pressed one fist to the floor. “As you command.”

Obanai mimicked the motion, with the snake upon his shoulder dipping its head in unison with his own boy. “As you command.”

As one, the rest of the Pillars did the same, a chorus of affirmations filling the room.

Kagaya smiled gently. “Thank you, my precious children. You honor me with your trust and devotion.” He then turned to Tamayo and gave her a faint smile. “Now, unless there is anything else that you wish to say…?”

Tamayo paused, then nodded. “Actually, there is something. Consider it to be a...peace offering, so to speak. I have two pieces of information to pass on to you all. It regards the Upper Moons of Muzan’s Twelve Demon Moons.”

And just like that, Tamayo had the undivided attention of every Demon Slayer in the room. “The first piece of information regards Upper Moon Two, the demon who took Kanae’s life as well as the life of Kiyoshi’s mother, as well as his left arm.” She blinked. “Ah, yes. Kiyoshi is Wolf’s disciple, and should be joining your organization soon enough, but I digress. Judging from the wretched, frostbitten state Kyoshi’s left arm was in after experiencing partial demonificiation, Upper Moon Two doubtlessly uses an ice or cold-based Blood Demon Art. What’s more, for it to have such a profound effect on blood being used to turn rather than to fight, it is likely that Upper Moon Two relies very heavily on his Blood Demon Art in combat.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Shinobu narrowed her eyes. The demon that had stolen Kanae from her had also killed Kiyoshi’s family? That...she did not begin to know how to react to that information. However, what Miss Tamayo had said about Upper Moon Two matched up with Kanae’s wounds far too well for her to ignore. Multiple puncture wounds in conical shapes that didn’t match up to any blade she knew could be explained by icicles. Add to that the unusual dampness that had been on her sister’s uniform that couldn’t be attributed to spilled blood…

The evidence was solid.

Shinobu managed to break out of her musings just in time to hear Tamayo say something that dashed all thoughts of Upper Moon Two from her mind.

“The second piece of information I have to offer is the identity of Upper Moon One: Michikatsu Tsugikuni, one of the oldest Breath users alive and twin brother to the founder of all Breath Styles, Yoriichi Tsugikuni.”

The room went dead silent for a beat, then two. Then Gyomei’s prayer beads struck the floor with a clack, and everyone was shouting.

* * *

**AN: This is a bit later than I wanted, but I’ve been super busy preparing for a move, so I’ve had less free time to write. Apologies. Oh, and a couple tidbits about things from this chapter: **

**First, according to my research, “great sparrow bee” is the literal translation of “** ** _ōsuzumebachi”_ ** **, the Japanese name for the Japanese giant hornet.**

**Second, from what I understand, Gyomei’s prayer,** ** _ Namu Amida Butsu_ ** **, is a Buddhist prayer with the approximate meaning of “I take shelter in Amida Buddha”.**

**Finally, from what I gather, Avici is the lowest layer of hell in Buddhism.**

**Hope that helped any confusion anyone may have had, and if I got any of that wrong, don’t hesitate to correct me! Beyond that, I hope you all enjoy.**


	17. Chapter 14: Fox

Chapter 14: Fox

In the months following Kanae’s funeral, Kiyoshi’s training intensified. Master Wolf never pushed him to the point of breaking, but it seemed like each day the grizzled shinobi found a new way to push him past where he thought his limits were.

Three months passed before Kiyoshi knew it, and yet he felt as though he’d aged four years in that mere quarter of a year’s time. What little baby fat had remained on his frame had been converted to lean muscle, and despite a growth spurt throwing off his coordination for a time, Kiyoshi’s control over his body was more precise than it had ever been.

Of course, his body was far from the only thing he trained, and if anything, Miss Tamayo’s teachings were _ more _ gruelling and unforgiving than Master Wolf’s. After all, the only injury Kiyoshi risked in the library was a papercut, and he was  _ extraordinarily  _ careful when handling toxins and medical tinctures alike.  _ That  _ particular lesson had been carved into his mind by both Miss Tamayo  _ and  _ Lady Shinobu (yes, she hated being called that, but she was a Pillar now, and his mother had raised a child with  _ manners _ ). 

Despite laying down each night with weary bones and a brain turned to mush, Kiyoshi did not resent the relentless, unforgiving nature of the training. In fact, the opposite was true: he was wholeheartedly grateful that his teachers were willing to push him as hard as they were.

The strength he sought was not the sort that would be achieved by half-measures. Slaying an Upper Moon was not something that could be accomplished with anything short of mastery.

And Upper Moon Two  _ would _ fall, be it by his hand or by Lady Shinobu’s. He did not especially care which; only that his mother and Miss Kanae were avenged, and that the rainbow-eyed serpent would never hurt anyone ever again.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Of course, Kiyoshi’s unerring focus on avenging both his mother and his... _ friend’s _ sister was not lost on either of his mentors. Nor, for that matter, did it go unnoticed by Shinobu herself, when the newly minted Insect Pillar found time in her busy schedule to visit.

Wolf, for his part, had little input to offer on the subject of vengeance. Oh, certainly, he had relentlessly pursued Genichiro Ashina when the man had spirited away his Lord, but it had never been  _ personal _ . Lord Kuro had been his charge, and it was both out of shinobi duty and out of personal loyalty that Wolf had faced down Ashina itself.

Indeed, Wolf held a measure of respect for Genichiro. The man had been as devoted to his land as Wolf had been to Kuro; it was mere bad luck that their purposes had been so at-odds.

Tamayo, on the other hand…she knew the sweet scent of revenge all too well, and that aroma was thick in the air around not just Kiyoshi, but Shinobu as well.

And one chilly Sunday evening, when Shinobu had stopped by for tea and to discuss a new variant of wisteria toxin she was experimenting with, and the hour had grown too late for her to leave, Tamayo decided to do something about that.

…

Well, Shinobu  _ tried _ to leave, but was gently and benevolently overruled by Tamayo’s hospitality. This dance of host and guest had practically become a habit by this point, and Shinobu was rather used to losing.

Rather than showing her guest to one of the spare rooms as usual, however, Tamayo brought her to the study, where Kiyoshi sat cross-legged, a book open in his lap. The shinobi-in-training looked up from his studies, an expression of curiosity on his face.

Tamayo motioned for Shinobu to take a seat beside Kiyoshi, and followed suit across from the duo. After taking a moment to get settled, she spoke.

“You may be wondering why I brought you here, Shinobu.” She turned to Kiyoshi, and added, “And doubtless you are curious as to why I am interrupting your studies.”

Tamayo folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “I brought you both here to talk about your plans to take revenge on Upper Moon Two.”

Shinobu arched an eyebrow even as Kiyoshi stiffened, hands tightening on the book in his lap. “I hope you don’t mean to try to talk us out of it, do you?"

Tamayo shook her head, a small smile on her face. “Hardly. Far be it from me to command you to discard your rage when not a day goes by without me plotting the destruction of Muzan Kibutsuji and the kingdom of filth that he has built.” 

Tamayo’s usually soft and gentle eyes were blade’s-edge sharp as she spoke.

“No, I will not be satisfied until everything that he has taken from me is repaid a thousandfold, and I will not hypocritically chastise you both for holding these same desires.

“By all means, pursue the downfall of Upper Moon Two with all of the burning fury and inevitability of the sunrise. That justice is yours by right.”

As Shinobu opened her mouth, a question on her lips, Tamayo spoke a single word.

_ “However.” _

Her voice was that of an empress; this clinic was her kingdom and she  _ would _ be heard.

“I urge you to carefully consider what I am about to ask of you both. Take great care that, in your haste to avenge everything and everyone who has been stolen from you, you do not carelessly discard the blessings that you’ve been given since.”

A sad smile came to Tamayo’s face, and she leaned forward to pull Kiyoshi and Shinobu into a tender embrace. In a soft voice, she all but begged, “Please, don’t leave behind those who care about you, even for the sake of avenging those you’ve lost.”

Shinobu stiffened, unused to such an emotional display from Tamayo. The doctor was usually so calm and collected, a flawless picture of poise and dignity. After a moment, though, she awkwardly returned the hug. Kiyoshi, on the other hand, immediately leaned into the embrace.

“I promise,” he said quietly but firmly. “I want you to do the same, Miss Tamayo. For Master Wolf, for Mister Yushiro, and for me; don’t leave us behind, either.”

Tamayo’s eyes filled with moisture. “Of course,” she whispered, her mouth twitching into a smile.

Shinobu, still off-balance by the unexpected embrace, remained silent for a long moment. Finally, though, she whispered, “Am I really deserving of it, though? If I were stronger, had I been there with her…” She gripped the sleeves of her haori as her face twisted in a mixture of rage, guilt, and unspent grief. Her voice cried out, a desperate rasp.

_ “How can I possibly be allowed to be happy when I failed my beloved sister when she needed me the most?!” _

A shudder ran through Shinobu’s body as Tamayo released Kiyoshi and pulled Shinobu into a more direct embrace. As though a dam within her had broken, Shinobu collapsed into the other woman’s arms, shaking with silent sobs.

A light touch on her shoulder caused her to start, and she turned her face towards the source: Kiyoshi. Despite his face being a blank, controlled mask (as it always was), Shinobu could read his emotions clear as day in his eyes. Usually inexpressive chips of ice, the irises that stared at her now were filled with sorrow and concern.

“Happiness,” Kiyoshi remarked carefully, quietly, “isn’t something you do or don’t ‘deserve’, Lady Shinobu. You can find it, or it can find you, but it’s not ‘earned’. And it’s  _ damn  _ sure not taken away if you mess up.”

“Indeed,” Tamayo added. “Happiness is a rare commodity in this world; rather than worrying about if you deserve it, you should instead hold it close, treasure it.”

Shinobu was silent for a long time, so long that one might have mistaken her for asleep. Finally, though, she croaked, “I...I will  _ try.” _

And for now, that would have to be enough.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Following that taxing meeting, Lady Shinobu did not visit again for nearly three months. Whether this was due to her being busy or due to discomfort, Kiyoshi did not know. Regardless, when next she  _ did _ visit, it was with a message from the Master: the Final Selection exam for entrants of the Demon Slayer Corps was to be held one week hence on Mt. Fujikasane.

Master Wolf had nodded wordlessly at this, and disappeared deeper into the house to speak with Miss Tamayo while Kiyoshi poured Lady Shinobu some tea. Little enough passed between them as they sipped their drinks, an air of awkward tension hanging over the two friends like a cloud.

After a few minutes, the tea was gone, and Lady Shinobu rose with easy grace. As she turned to leave after giving her farewells, she paused, turned back, and said, “I know you’ll pass, so I won’t wish you luck. Simply...fight well.”

Kiyoshi inclined his head, and replied, “Thank you, Lady Shinobu. Of course, I have no doubt that you’ll do the same.”

The Insect Pillar gave a small, genuine smile; a smile quite different from the mask she’d begun wearing to honor Kanae’s memory. “Indeed I shall.”

With that, Lady Shinobu departed in a flutter of butterfly-patterned cloth.

For the next five days, neither Master Wolf nor Miss Tamayo brought up the Final Selection at all, though the fact that all but the most basic of training was suspended told Kiyoshi all he needed to know.

Finally, two days before the exam was set to begin, Master Wolf woke Kiyoshi early in the morning and brought him to Miss Tamayo’s study. Under his sole arm was a bundle of dark cloth, though Kiyoshi could see hints of brighter fabric here and there on it.

When they arrived, Wolf presented him with the bundle: a black half cape meant to hang from his left shoulder and conceal the Fang while remaining easy to remove so the Fang might be deployed. The cloth was of fine, sturdy make, and when he unfolded it completely, a small piece of metal and cloth fell from within the folds. When Kiyoshi examined it, he found it to be a half-mask, meant to conceal his nose and mouth. When he put it on and looked in a hand mirror, he saw that blackened metal lined his jaw, carved to evoke the image of a beast’s open maw.

“With this,” Master Wolf declared, his voice somehow  _ more  _ serious and solemn than it had ever been, “you are my disciple no longer. You are shinobi.”

The ancient shinobi placed his hand on Kiyoshi’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I pass to you one single tenet of the shinobi code: Be true to yourself and to your lord.

“Now rise, Kiyoshi. Rise,  _ Fox.” _

The next words Master—no, the next words  _ Wolf _ spoke resounded within Kiyoshi.

_ “Rise,  _ Sekiko _ , One Armed Fox, and follow the path you know to be true.” _

* * *

**AN: Geez, this one is super late, and for that I apologise. Turns out that not having internet at your new place of residence ** ** _really _ ** **gets in the way of writing new chapters; who knew? Thankfully, that’s resolved now, and we are about to move into the next arc of the story! I do hope you all will enjoy what tale I spin from here on!**


	18. Chapter 15: Converging Paths

Chapter 15: Converging Paths

Once Wolf had finished bestowing Kiyoshi with his shinobi name, the young man retreated to his room, both to gather himself and to prepare for his journey. After taking a handful of minutes to center himself (and perhaps a dozen more to fill a satchel with essentials), he emerged from his room, ready to take on the world. Or rather,  _ almost  _ ready. One single thing remained before he could depart.

He had to say goodbye to the people who had become his family.

Of the three members of the household, Kiyoshi had by far spent the least time with Yushiro. This was not out of any enmity towards or dislike of the man, but was rather an unintended side effect of how single-mindedly Kiyoshi had thrown himself into training.

Even so, the two were hardly strangers, as Yushiro had, on occasion, assisted with Kiyoshi’s training: both martial  _ and  _ medical. More than that, though, Yushiro had brought him books from time to time; not medical texts or shinobi scrolls, but  _ literature _ . From works about the modern world to fantastical depictions of gods and demons (some of which were all too true), all of them were interesting, and all of them had been read until their covers were ragged.

Yushiro was at the back of the house, in the storeroom, when Kiyoshi found him. Several crates lined the walls, Yushiro’s signature paper tags adorning each one of them. From the way Yushiro’s demonic Chi enveloped them, Kiyoshi suspected that they were enchanted to make the crates lighter and easier to transport.

After all, once Kiyoshi departed for the Final Selection, Miss Tamayo, Yushiro, and Wolf would all be leaving. His former teacher would apparently be resuming his search for the shinobi who had attacked their household, while the other two would be moving to a new, more secure location near Asakusa in Tokyo.

As Kiyoshi entered the storeroom, Yushiro turned to regard him. “Oh, you’re still here?” Yushiro asked, an eyebrow raised. “I would have thought you’d be eager to get on the road.”

Kiyoshi shook his head slightly. “I can’t leave without saying goodbye to my family, can I?”

A poleaxed expression crossed Yushiro’s face as his mouth dropped open. “I, but, what?”

With a small smile, Kiyoshi put his hands, flesh and prosthetic alike, on Yushiro’s shoulders. “You, Wolf, Miss Tamayo? You’ve all done so much for me. To me, you’re family.”

Still stunned, Yushiro nonetheless reddened with embarrassment. He looked off to the side, then replied, so quiet Kiyoshi could barely hear him. “You...You’re important to me, too.”

Then, his head snapped around, and he sternly declared, “And you’re important to Lady Tamayo, as well! So you’d better not get complacent and get yourself hurt, you hear? It’d break her heart if you died.”

Left unsaid but understood was the fact that such a thing would affect Yushiro just as poorly, even if the man was too proud to admit it.

Kiyoshi removed his hands from Yushiro’s shoulders, only to clasp forearms with him. “I promise, Yushiro.”

Yushiro looked him in the eyes, and whatever he found there seemed to satisfy him. He clapped Kiyoshi on the shoulder and shooed him out of the storeroom with a poorly-hidden, wistful smile.

From the storehouse, Kiyoshi proceeded to Miss Tamayo’s study. When he entered the room, he saw that she was seated at a desk, a worn nub of charcoal pinched between two fingers as she wrote. While Miss Tamayo used a calligraphy brush for most things, she had a habit of using a bit of charcoal for notes and addenda, particularly when she felt the need to hide the contents of the notes behind the double cypher of actual coded writing and being written in archaic Latin.

Miss Tamayo gave no outward indication that she noticed Kiyoshi enter, continuing to pour over her notes with absolute focus, but he knew she had. Nobody could enter or exit Miss Tamayo’s study without her knowledge, not even Wolf.

Kiyoshi patiently waited for Miss Tamayo to finish writing, leaning quietly against the wall. Mercifully, it was a short wait, as after only a few minutes she set down the charcoal and turned to him.

“It’s time already, is it?” she asked rhetorically, rising from her chair and walking over to Kiyoshi. He nodded, and Miss Tamayo smiled melancholically. “I know you will excel, Kiyoshi.” Her smile turned faintly mischievous. “Why, one day you might even surpass  _ me _ .”

Kiyoshi chuckled. “I know I’ve got big shoes to fill, but I won’t give up.”

Miss Tamayo’s smile widened. “I would expect nothing less.”

With a deep breath, Kiyoshi looked Miss Tamayo in the eyes, his expression serious. “Miss Tamayo. Since you took me in four years ago, you have done so much. So much more than anyone could ask. So much more than any other doctor  _ would. _ You have taught me, cared for me, and given me a  _ home _ .”

Tears glinted in the corners of his eyes. “My mother is dead, and nothing I can do can bring her back. And I would never want to replace her. She wasn’t perfect, but she loved me and that was enough. But…”

Kiyoshi reached out a trembling hand, which Tamayo took, her face twisted by emotions all too similar to the ones he himself was experiencing. “But after everything you’ve done, I can’t think of any of you as anything but family...if you’ll have me, that is.”

Tamayo let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and pulled Kiyoshi into an embrace. “Of course I will, you silly boy. You may not be mine by blood, but you mean as much to me as any of, of—” She cut herself off. The grief of past loss was ever-present in both of them, but here and now there was cause for happiness, even if it preceded a parting.

The grief of yesterday would keep, they both decided. Let the only tears shed here be ones of happiness.

After what felt like an eternity, the two parted, and Kiyoshi smiled, eyes still glistening. “I must be off, Miss Tamayo. But don’t think I won’t visit you in Asakusa, or wherever else you might wind up.” He tapped the side of his face, right beside his eye. “Yushiro’s Blindfold is good, but he hasn’t figured out how to make it hide  _ itself _ yet. I’ll be able to find you.”

Miss Tamayo let out a short chuckle. “I am sure you will, dear Kiyoshi. When you put your mind to something, it gets done.” She gave his arm a pat. “Put the Ashina arts to good use now, you hear?”

“Of course,” he replied with a nod, then turned to leave. Before he closed the door behind him, he called over his shoulder, “I’m off!”

“Have a safe trip,” Miss Tamayo replied with a nostalgic smile.

The third and final member of Kiyoshi’s strange little family was seated on the front porch of the house. Wolf was, unsurprisingly, carving a Buddha statue, as he tended to do during times of rest. Beside him sat a lacquered wooden box with a leather strap attached to it. Wolf had acquired it from a trader; apparently it was made of a particularly durable and lightweight wood. 

This, of course, made it perfect for transporting the spare prosthetic tools while they were not attached to the Shinobi Fang. The Fang was a marvel of science and alchemic mysteries, but even it had limits: it could only have three attachments installed on it at one time.

As Kiyoshi approached, Wolf set aside the knife and the chunk of carved wood, took hold of the leather strap, and rose. As the two shinobi locked eyes, no words passed between them. None needed to; their Chi told everything the other needed to know. It was an incredibly rare, impossibly deep sort of bond, born of the hard years of training, proximity, and meditation, and even though they were Master and Disciple no more, that tie remained.

Indeed, now that Kiyoshi was a fully-fledged shinobi in his own right, the bond was stronger than ever.

The moment passed all too quickly, and Wolf gave a solemn nod. Wordlessly, he passed the box over to Kiyoshi, then helped him don his cloak and mask, and with them, his new face. His new  _ identity _ . 

Without a backwards glance, Fox set out on his journey to Mt. Fujikasane. As he walked away, the wind carried a whisper to his ears, so light that it could have been his imagination.

_ “I am proud of you.” _

No words had needed to be said, and yet they had been freely given anyway. That held meaning, Fox thought. 

…

He wasn’t crying! He’d just gotten dust in his eye, was all.

-x-x-x-x-x-

A few miles north, another farewell was occuring. It was altogether less tearful than the one that Kiyoshi had just gone through, but that did nothing to rob it of meaning.

Kaigaku stood on the dirt path that stretched from his Master’s home into the forest, Nichirin blade sheathed at his back and a pouch of rations tied to his hip. As Master Kuwajima looked on from the porch, Kaigaku’s severe eyes regarded Zenitsu. Regarded the junior disciple he’d dismissed as worthless, once upon a time.

Kaigaku was a proud young man, but even he could admit when he was proven wrong. Zenitsu might still only be capable of the Breath of Thunder’s first form, but the speed with which he could already execute it gave even Kaigaku pause during their spars.

Add to that the golden-haired boy’s rapid progress with his so-called ‘Wild Thunder’ abilities, and Kaigaku had found himself being pressed to improve by not one rival, but  _ two _ .

Now, Kaigaku would be the first to admit that he didn’t like people very much, and he didn’t hide it. If there was one type of person he could say that he wholeheartedly appreciated, however, it was people who could make him stronger. Teachers, rivals, or even foes; those who pushed him to that next level would always have his thanks, even if he rarely expressed that gratitude.

After all, might was the only sure thing in this world, the only thing that would stand between himself and the evils that lurked in the dark. He learned the hard way at a young age that guile and cleverness, while useful, would only take you so far.

_ ‘And even when being clever  _ does  _ work…’ _ Kaigaku gave a small, bitter smile, before shoving his guilt to the back of his mind. No amount of beating himself up would change what he’d done that night; Master Kuwajima had made  _ that _ abundantly clear when Kaigaku had told him the truth.

_ “What you did that night was wrong; I will not lie to you and tell you otherwise. Out of fear and helplessness, you bought your own life at the cost of the lives of others.  _ However. _ That single moment of weakness as a child need not define the rest of that life. Rather than allowing that moment to weigh you down and keep you from moving forward, instead use that mistake as a lesson, a reason to keep moving forward. Use it to make sure you never have to be in that position ever again. _

_ “It will not bring back the lives lost, but if, in pursuing that goal, you save lives that would otherwise be lost, you might begin to balance your karma once more.” _

And so Kaigaku had trained until his hands had gone raw with blisters, until his legs felt like they were liquid, until his lungs felt like they would burst. Any amount of work, any measure of pain, he would endure it for the sake of never being helpless again.

And so here he was, about to embark on the next stage of his journey, the next steps on the path to power. As he stared down his junior disciple, he felt led to do something rather out of character for him. Perhaps it was due to the influence of Kaigaku’s  _ other _ rival, perhaps it was because he wasn’t  _ quite _ as much of an uncaring bastard as he appeared; who could say?

Regardless, the fact of the matter was that Kaigaku reached out to Zenitsu, not in violence as he had so many times in the past, but this time in something that vaguely resembled fondness. His hand descended on golden locks and ruffled them awkwardly.

“Don’t get lazy, brat,” Kaigaku remarked gruffly. “Do Master proud; got it?”

Zenitsu nodded eagerly, an almost imperceptible smile on his face. Kaigaku gave a firm nod of his own, then turned to Master Kuwajima and bowed deeply. He turned to leave, paused, and called over his shoulder as though in afterthought, “I wonder if you can catch up to me?”

He didn’t turn to look, but he could practically  _ feel _ the fire in Zenitsu’s gaze scorching at his back as he walked away.

_ ‘Good.’ _

-x-x-x-x-x-

It took the better part of two days for Fox to reach Mt. Fujikasane, even with the mobility advantages afforded by the Fang’s grapnel and the speed of his Breath style. Thankfully, he’d managed to find people willing to house him for the night in exchange for a bit of coin. (Wolf had thoughtfully placed a decently sized pouch of money in the box that also housed the Fang’s spare attachments).

By the time Fox actually arrived at the foot of the mountain, the sun was beginning to sink behind the horizon, illuminating the brilliant bluish-purple of the countless wisteria plants that covered much of the mountain. Seeing so much of the flower that was anathema to demons gathered in one place gave him some ideas about just what Final Selection might entail.

As he climbed the stairs that led to the testing area, Fox made sure his Nichirin blade was clear in its scabbard, double-checked the clasps on his half-cape to make sure they weren’t caught or jammed, and flicked through each of the three attachments he’d chosen for the test in rapid succession.

By the time he reached the top, his gear check was complete, and as such he could devote the whole of his attention to the people who were gathered. There were perhaps thirty or thirty-five prospective swordsmen present, two of whom he recognized. 

First, of course standing apart from the group, was Kaigaku. The two met eyes, Kaigaku’s own widening at Fox’s appearance before the other young man shook his head with a bemused half-smile.

The second person he recognized was the quiet, kind-eyed girl from Miss Kanae’s funeral. At that time, she’d only spoken to introduce herself as Makomo. She looked much the same as she had that day (if a bit taller), save for one addition to her wardrobe: a smiling fox mask with blue flowers printed on the edge hung on the left side of her head.

Fox found it distantly amusing that her mask was more distinctly vulpine than his own, despite his designation.

Aside from those two, nobody in particular stood out very much, and when he opened his inner eye, it was much the same. That wasn’t to say that there was nobody here that was strong other than the three of them, of course. It was just that...if the three of them were bonfires, the rest of the applicants ranged from candles at the weakest to campfires at the strongest, with most of their number being torches.

Fox was snapped from his reverie by the appearance of two ornately dressed, white-haired girls. Their facial features would have marked them as members of the Ubuyashiki family even if Fox hadn’t memorized the names and faces of every member of his Lord-to-be’s family. These were the eldest Ubuyashiki daughters, Hinaki and Nichika.

As they spoke, informing them of the nature of the test and of the purpose of the wisteria flowers, Fox centered himself. This would be the first time he had faced a demon since  _ that _ day, and he would have to be at his best for these seven days.

As the applicants filed into the forest, Fox began to Breathe. Even as he entered the forest, the stress of keeping his Full Focus Breathing active was already putting a strain on him.

But with a mind of steel and the focus of a shinobi, he endured. This was the test he’d set for himself, after Lady Shinobu had mentioned the technique while talking about the requirements to become a Pillar.

He would achieve Full Focus: Constant during these seven days on the mountain, without fail. If he was to be Lord Ubuyashiki’s hidden hand, Fox could settle for no less.

* * *

**AN: I actually managed to finish this one in a timely manner! Yaaaay.**

**:V**

**No, but seriously, I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Initially, my intent was to have this chapter go all the way to the end of Final Selection, but the goodbyes took way more than I thought, so I figured that I might as well make that its own chapter.**

**Oh! One tidbit this chapter: the “I’m off!”/“Have a safe trip.” exchange between Tamayo and Kiyoshi is a bit awkward, and might not make sense to people who haven’t watched a bunch of anime, but it’s the best translation of the call and return of “Ittekimasu”/ “Itterashai” that is a common Japanese farewell when leaving home. It’s supposed to indicate an intent to return, to my understanding. Of course, I could be completely wrong about the authenticity of this, so if I am, feel free to call me out and call me a big stinky doodoo head. XV**


	19. Chapter 16: Where the River Forks

Chapter 16: Where the River Forks

As Fox passed through the faintly luminescent wisteria trees and into the testing area, the first thing he noticed was how  _ quiet _ it was. The sounds of nature that one would normally take for granted, such as birdsong or the buzz of insects, were completely absent. Indeed, the only sound that registered was the periodic whisper of the wind stirring the trees. It was...unsettling, to say the least. Between that, and the ever-growing strain of maintaining his Full Focus Breathing, Fox could be forgiven for being a  _ bit _ jumpy.

As such, when a grey-skinned demon burst from the trees with a belligerent snarl, the already on-edge shinobi turned and cut without hesitation, not even taking the time to channel his Breath into a proper technique.

That said, based on the way his blade sheared through his target’s neck in a single, clean stroke, he hadn't  _ needed  _ to use one.

As head and body tumbled in different directions and began to crumble to ash, Fox flicked his blade out to one side before returning it to its sheath with a click. He cast a backwards glance at the demon, then raised his right hand in front of him, making one half of the motion to clasp his hands. He offered a silent prayer for the human soul that had fallen so far, and then moved on, removing his half-cloak from his shoulder and hanging it from his sash as he walked.

As Fox proceeded further into the forest, he activated the first form of his Breath, Void Mantle, obscuring him from the casual observer. Silent and wary, he flitted through the underbrush, and occasionally through the branches of trees, like a shadow. After a few minutes of moving, Fox paused for a moment to focus on his Breathing.

As his foot touched down on a branch at the edge of a small clearing, he caught wind of the unpleasant, if familiar, stench of blood and shit. As he peered into the copse, he laid eyes on the mangled body of one of his fellow examinees. 

He was—well, he  _ had been _ a tall boy with short-cropped black hair, but now that hair was dyed crimson by the blood that had been splattered across his mutilated form. He had been torn open from throat to crotch, ribs shattered and tossed aside to get at the meat within.

A bulky, pale demon with a pair of curled horns squatted beside the grisly scene, shoveling gobbets of flesh and organ into its mouth with savage abandon.

As Fox stared, unblinking, the demon paused, then looked up. Ruby-red eyes met Fox’s own as he realized that, in his shock at the macabre display, he had released his hold on his technique.

In the next instant, the demon was inches in front of his face, bloody claws arcing towards his throat. Even as his hand went to his blade, Fox knew there was no time to draw it. Rather than attempting to dodge or block the blow, he hurled himself backwards off of the branch, landing in a crouch with blade in hand, even as the demon smacked against the tree with a wet thud.

A fraction of a second later, his blade flashed out to turn aside another strike as his target fell upon him from on high. A hand went flying as his blade severed it on the return stroke, but it wasn’t discouraged by its wound.

Fox quickly learned why, as a new hand burst into being from the creature’s stump even as it threw itself towards him once more, fanged mouth trailing drool as it howled, “Just hurry up and  _ die,  _ meat!”

As the shinobi fended off the demon’s rapid attacks, he couldn’t help but notice that, for all the monster’s ferocity and speed compared to the first demon…

_ His blade sang as it arced through the air, trailing silver smoke: an ashen cruciform splitting the enemy into four. _

...It was far,  _ far, _ slower and weaker than any of his teachers.

As his improvised Ashina Cross split the demon in twain from skullcap to crotch, then came around again to cleave its head from its shoulders, Fox exhaled harshly, his heart almost skipping a beat as he failed to maintain his Full Focus Breathing.

At a guess, he’d only managed to maintain it for thirty or forty minutes; a far cry from where he wanted to be. He shook his head ruefully. He wouldn’t let this discourage him; he would simply have to double his time each day, and by the seventh he would have met his goal.

After reaffirming his intentions, Fox paused briefly to repeat the same prayer as before, then walked over to the ruin of flesh and bone that had once been his fellow applicant. Even as he felt his gorge rising, Fox knelt on the ground a few paces away from the corpse.

Then, he took a Breath, ignored how his lungs protested at the action, and plunged the fingers of the Fang into the ground.

Even with the aid of Full Focus Breathing, digging a grave by hand was no easy task, doubly so because he was interrupted  _ thrice _ by demons that had been drawn to the stench of blood. Not one of them was even half as strong as the horned one he’d dispatched, and not one of them were allowed to lay even a talon on the dead applicant before Fox took their heads.

By the time the task was done, at least an hour must have passed, and sweat was pouring down his brow. Fox rose to his feet and strode over to the body, and knelt beside it. As he gathered the body in his arms as best he could without spilling viscera on himself, he took note of something he’d missed before.

_ The boy had been killed before he could even draw his sword. _

Practicality warred with sentimentality for a moment, but Fox was a shinobi. Sentiment  _ wasn’t  _ going to win out, at least not here. As he settled the corpse in its grave, he removed the sheathed blade from the boy’s hip and set it to one side. There was no sense in burying a perfectly good Nichirin blade when it might otherwise complete its purpose, and in doing so, save lives.

As Fox shoveled handfuls of dirt onto the body, he murmured a prayer for the boy’s soul (and a promise to it) under his breath.

_ “Go to rest, brave one, and know that your blade will be taken up to send demons to their peace. May your next life be one free of strife.” _

With that, he rose, slipped the fallen applicant’s sword into his sash, then left the clearing behind. The first night had barely begun, and already one had fallen.

If he could, Fox wanted to make sure that there were no more who did.

-x-x-x-

As he stalked the forest, Fox kept his inner eye fully open, keenly aware of the Chi of everything around him. Twice he happened upon another applicant struggling with a demon, one a short-haired boy with the faintest aura of water, the other a ponytailed girl with a somewhat stronger essence of wind. Both of them managed to prevail in their battles, and indeed, encountered one another in short order. Sensibly, the duo decided to watch each other's back during the test, and proceeded through the forest together. Fox shadowed them for a time, out of concern as well as curiosity.

Neither of them were even at Zenitsu’s level, judging from the strength of their Chi, but what they lacked in raw power they more than made up for in teamwork. The boy’s techniques were versatile and flowing, striking at demons from unexpected angles. His flexibility was complimented by the ferocious tempo of the girl’s own techniques. They weren’t as swift as Kaigaku’s Breath of Thunder, but they carried a level of force and aggressive vitality that the swiftest Breath style sacrificed by specializing so heavily in speed.

After seeing the duo’s teamwork dismantle a pair of demons with relative ease, Fox was satisfied, and moved on.

Not even a minute after he separated from the pair, two things slammed into Fox’s senses almost in unison. First came a powerful pulse of bleak emotions, mixing terror, rage, despair, and grief into a toxic cocktail of pain. Before Fox even had a chance to register the Chi as belonging to Makomo, the second wave hit.

It was choking and vile, a pustulent mass of cancerous malice. Unmistakably the Chi of a demon, and one whose power dwarfed any of the other denizens of the forest.

Were Fox anyone else, he might have been paralyzed by the heavy sensation. This time, though, what saved him was not the training he’d received, but the fact that a far,  _ far _ more overwhelming demonic presence had carved itself into his very being.

This demon was far more powerful than any other that was in this forest, yes. But…

As Fox blurred towards the signature, leaving only wisps of silver smoke in his wake, one thought fixed itself firmly in his mind.

_ ‘This demon is a gnat before a titan, when compared to Upper Moon Two.’ _

-x-x-x-

When Fox reached the clearing where Makomo and the demon were, he was faced with an unwelcome sight. His fellow Tsuguko was slumped against a tree, her blade a shattered ruin beside her. The corpulent grotesquerie that was a morphed demon loomed over her even as it lowered the corpse of another prospective swordsman into a vast, slobbering maw with one of what had to be  _ dozens _ of arms.

He was too late to save  _ that _ applicant, Fox realized with a pang of sorrow, but Makomo’s Chi still burned bright. Even as the Shinobi Fang came up, a trio of kunai gripped in its fingers, Makomo raised her head, glaring defiantly at the Arm Demon. Her hand wrapped around the hilt of her broken blade, and she staggered to her feet as the demon’s multitude of arms reached out towards her.

In the next instant, the demon reeled back, a kunai sprouting from its forehead as well as each pupil. As the demon screeched in rage, the light hissing sound from the oddly bulbous handles of the small blades were lost on it; that is, until the attached wisteria oil smoke bombs exploded, further blinding the fleshy abomination as well as filling its wounds with agonizing poison.

The Arm Demon flailed about, some arms clawing at its face and making more wounds to be poisoned, others thrashing around in a tantrum of aimless destruction. This, of course, spelled a not inconsiderable danger to Makomo, who was less than a meter from the raging monster. Despite this, the young swordswoman remained calm, having since collected herself and set aside—no,  _ harnessed, _ her turbulent emotions.

As the flailing came closer to her, Makomo sucked in a Breath, then  _ moved. _

_ ‘Breath of Water, Ninth Form: Splashing Water Flow - Turbulent!’ _

Makomo flitted through the forest of arms like a raindrop weaving its way down a pane of glass, small splashes of Chi water in the shape of footprints the only record of her passing. In the span of a few moments, she was standing on a branch adjacent to Fox’s, her broken hilt clenched in her fist as her eyes snapped from Fox, to the demon, then back to Fox.

Wordlessly, Fox pulled the fallen examinee’s blade from his hip and offered it to her, hilt first. She stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then her gaze flicked from his eyes, to his hair, then to his arm. Recognition filled her eyes.

“You’re that boy from the Flower Pillar’s funeral,” she murmured, seemingly unconcerned by the screeching and raging that was going on beneath them. “It was...Kiyoshi?”

“Fox, when the mask is on,” Fox replied shortly, not taking his eyes off of the Arm Demon. “Shinobi rules.”

Makomo arched a thin eyebrow, then shrugged and took the blade. She drew it and gave it a couple of swings, glaring down at the demon as she did so. “A bit heavy, but I can manage.”

Fox nodded, then flexed the fingers of the Fang, switching from his kunai to a more suitable tool. In the next instant, he plummeted towards the Arm Demon, the blade in his right hand trailing ephemeral smoke even as the shorter blade in his left trailed a streamer of acrid poison.

He sucked in a Breath, and spun, lashing out as he fell. Half a dozen times did each of his blades hit home as he wove his chaotic dance.

_ ‘Karakuri Art: Gnaw!’ _

As Fox touched down, the demon’s roars became even more pained as the wisteria and blue rust poisons exacerbated and intensified one another, eating away at the demon’s monstrous cells and drastically retarding their capability for regeneration.

Over the sound of the Arm Demon’s rage, though, he heard another noise. A familiar and all too welcome voice raised in bloodlust.

_ “Breath of Thunder, Sixth Form: Electric Lightning Shower!” _

And so, the ire of the gods crashed down.


	20. Chapter 17: Flux

Chapter 17: Flux

Bolts of golden Chi-lightning roared as they scorched holes through the Arm Demon’s limbs, in a couple of cases severing them outright. Kaigaku, too, roared, but not with the ire of heaven. No, his were roars of  _ laughter _ , of  _ glee _ at the prospect of this fight. He’d entered the clearing with all the violence and speed befitting a wielder of lightning, and judging by the way he charged at the demon with his blade drawn back in preparation for a heavy cut, Kaigaku didn’t have any intention of slowing down now.

Even as his boisterously bloodthirsty rival charged the morphed demon, Fox rose from his crouch and flexed the Fang’s fingers. With that motion, the poisonous Sabimaru blade spun aside, a new tool taking its place. Fox gripped his Nichirin blade in both hands and moved to join Kaigaku, cleanly severing a questing limb with a powerful overhead  _ Ichimonji _ strike as he advanced.

Kaigaku’s approach was far less deliberate and methodical than Fox’s, but what it lacked in precision it made up for in speed and sheer carnage. Unphased by the grotesquerie of green flesh and grasping digits, Kaigaku all but  _ waded _ through the veritable thicket of limbs, his Nichirin blade never still for even an instant.

Viscous, tainted blood flowed in his wake like an unholy stream as Kaigaku chopped, slashed, shredded, and flensed his way to the Arm Demon’s body. Bare moments later, Fox reached the mountainous demon’s side as well, and almost as one, the two leapt towards its neck. Kaigaku’s blade flared gold as the signature sparking claw of  _ Lightning Ball _ enveloped it, a Breath whooshing from his lungs. Fox, on the other hand, returned his sword to its sheath in preparation for another Cross.

The tumorous mass of hateful flesh let out an agonized howl even as it flailed blindly towards those who had injured it so. Blind though it was, its numerous arms made up for that hindrance, at least in part. 

Kaigaku, to his credit, didn’t hesitate for even a second to switch forms from the second to the third, a coruscating halo of faux-electricity spreading around his body as he unleashed  _ Buzzing Mosquito Thunder _ to fend off the chaotic, omnidirectional tantrum of an attack.

Fox, on the other hand, pushed off of a spasming arm as wide around as he was, before using the Fang’s grapnel to reposition himself and perch in a tree. He looked over to Makomo, who he’d briefly lost track of in the frantic pace of battle.

She’d descended from her own perch in a tree, and now seemed to have taken up a two handed stance roughly a dozen meters away from the battle. While her body was remarkably still, Fox could tell that she was preparing something  _ big _ ; her Chi was roiling within her like a boiling lake, and even as he looked on, a full three-fourths of it flowed down her arms and into her sword.

…

Actually,  _ big _ was likely understating it by a significant margin. Regardless, the sheer amount of Chi she was pouring into the technique suggested — no,  _ demanded _ that it would be a decisive killing blow. If Makomo somehow  _ failed _ …

Well. It didn't bear thinking about, because she  _ wouldn't _ . He and Kaigaku would make sure of  _ that _ .

-x-x-x-

Makomo stared across the clearing, her Breaths deep and even. As though in a trance, she raised the borrowed katana in front of her, and then  _ moved. _

Even as she shot forward, she spun, her blade pivoting around her as she acted as a fulcrum. As she moved, she faintly registered both the aggressive, unknown swordsma and Kiyo—no,  _ Fox _ , rejoin battle with the Arm Demon. The murderous monster let out a frenzied shriek as they leapt at it, and then it almost seemed to  _ explode _ . What had to be  _ hundreds  _ of arms shot blindly in every direction even as the flesh of its massive gut seemed to recede.

Nonetheless, Makomo continued her approach, the borrowed blade bit through limb after limb, each successive rotation bringing a smoother, cleaner cut than the last. With each rotation, too, did the thin banner of water trailing behind Makomo grow in length and breadth, soon resembling nothing so much as an aquatic flag of victory.

The violent stranger seemed to  _ revel  _ in the danger, meeting the unholy sproutings with a flourish of his blade that bloomed into a thicket of lightning.  _ “Fourth Form,” _ , he all but crowed through a giddy sneer,  _ “Distant Thunder!” _ Even as arms fried and burned, the swordsman was charging once more, golden light enveloping his blade in a jagged talon.

Fox, on the other hand, made no move to attack or dodge the oncoming forest of flesh, instead settling into a strange stance reminiscent of a martial artist. Makomo very nearly lost focus as several arms blasted through his torso like he wasn’t even there, but it quickly became clear that he  _ wasn’t _ .

With a flash of crimson, flaming feathers, the afterimage of Fox that had been left behind faded. In the next instant, an incandescent flame blossomed behind the Arm Demon’s head, and from it leapt Fox, completely unscathed by fist and flame both. His hand darted to his hip and wrapped around the hilt of his blade, the false fingers of his prosthetic gripping the scabbard to position it for the cut.

Almost as one, shinobi and swordsman alike unleashed their strikes. The air shook as the stranger’s arms  _ blurred _ , his strikes moving with such speed that one blade seemed to become five.  _ “Second Form,” _ he snarled through a vicious grin,  _ “Lightning Ball!” _ Five cuts were thrown and five jagged claws of lightning gouged at the Arm Demon’s protected neck.

Fox’s strike, befitting a shinobi, was far less eye-catching, but no less effective for its understated nature. Silver smoke trailed after his sweeping blade, drawing first a line, then a cross, and finally a six pointed—

_ “Ashina Star.” _

The declaration was firm and clear, easily audible to Makomo despite the demon’s shrieks and her being a meter away.

For all the power the two had brought to bear, though, the Arm Demon’s protection of its neck was vigilant and strong. Even as the layers of arms that clutched at its neck fell away, more sprouted to take their place.

But for scarce seconds, there was a window of vulnerability as it regenerated, and so Makomo let out a cry as she brought her blade around again. Her cry was quickly drowned out by a roar, but this time it was not the impersonal, primal roar of thunder that accompanied the stranger’s strikes.

No, this roar was almost  _ organic _ , the triumphant bellow of a guardian god.

_ “Breath of Water, Tenth Form…” _

As Makomo charged up one of the Arm Demon’s limbs to reach its neck, the Dragon of Change took shape. Absently, she noticed that the draconic construct was different from Master Urokodaki’s; namely, its neck was thinner and more serpentine, and rather than the forest of spikes that wreathed his dragon’s head like a crown, hers sported a pair of long, thin, antler-like horns.

What it looked like didn’t matter, she decided as she made one last revolution and the water dragon’s head snapped forward, translucent fangs flashing.

_ “...Constant Flux!” _

As the borrowed Nichirin blade sheared through the regenerating limbs and bit into the Arm Demon’s neck, so too did the Dragon of Change’s mouth close around the demon’s head, biting cleanly through on both ends. 

Makomo finished the final rotation of the technique, her blade passing through the creature’s neck with scarcely any resistance. She hopped lightly to the ground as the already-dissolving carcass slammed into the ground, ash floating off of it and drifting gently, mournfully to the ground.

She turned back to face the demon, a blank look on her face. If the Arm Demon’s eyes and mouth hadn’t been melted partially shut by Fox’s poison, she was sure she’d have seen proof of its rage and anger in its eyes, would have heard it in its curses. As it was, though, all the dying monster could do was whimper.

Makomo jumped as Fox seemed to appear at her side, his right hand raised with his palm raised in half of the gesture of prayer. Confusion spread across her face, but she at least had the manners to not interrupt him.

The stranger, on the other hand, seemed to have no such reservations, letting out a low whistle and addressing her with a dark, speculative glint in his eyes. “That was a hell of a technique, girly. You’re no chump, that’s for damn sure.”

She gave him a baleful  _ look, _ and replied flatly, “My  _ name _ is Makomo. And no, I don’t suppose I am.” She arched an eyebrow exaggeratedly. “And you are? Other than an absolute  _ mess _ , of course.”

He looked down at his clothes, as though noticing for the first time how dirty they’d become due to his barbaric fighting style. Demon blood didn’t dissolve into ash if it’d had time to dry, after all.

“...Huh. I am, ain’t I?” He shrugged, uncomfortably unconcerned with the fact that he was  _ caked _ in blood. “Anyways, the name’s Kaigaku. Don’t forget it.” He then turned his head towards Fox, and frowned. “Oi, what’re you praying for a demon for?”

Fox lowered his hand and opened his eyes, then turned towards them. “I am not praying for the demon; I am praying for the human that it once was. Surely, it will have to repent for its sins, but once that ill karma is burned away, it will return to the cycle of reincarnation to be reborn.” He let out a sigh. “I can do nothing for those who have succumbed to the curse of demonhood save for offering them the mercy of a swift end,” he patted the hilt of his sword, “but to offer my well-wishes for their immortal soul costs me but a moment of time.”

Abruptly, Fox seemed to come to a decision. He nodded to both of them in turn, offering them only the words, “Do not allow yourselves to die here,” then leapt into the trees. Before Makomo could even blink, the shinobi had completely vanished, leaving both her  _ and _ Kaigaku blinking in confusion.

“Well,” Kaigaku said after a few moments of silence, “you heard him. See you at the end of the Selection.” With those parting words, he turned and left, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he walked deeper into the forest.

Now alone save for the ashes of the demon that had tormented so many of Master Urokodaki’s former students, Makomo exhaled, feeling  _ incredibly _ tired all of a sudden. She leaned against a tree and stared at the stars.

“Boys,” she decided, “are stupid.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

After parting with Makomo and Kaigaku, Fox continued to patrol the testing grounds. He was only one person, yes, but if his intervention meant that even one more person survived, then that had meaning.

As he patrolled, he resumed his practice of Full Focus: Constant. He’d had to halt it during the fight with that morphed demon, because it was simply too risky. If he’d faltered even for a second due to the strain, it likely would have meant his death.

By the end of the first night, he’d managed to extend the duration of his constant Breathing to a full hour, but as the sun rose and he settled down in the crook of a tree’s branches, an issue occurred to him.

Full Focus: Constant required him to  _ always _ have Full Focus Breathing active,  _ whether he was awake or not. _ That meant he needed some way to determine if he was actually maintaining that state while asleep, something he lacked, being atop a forested mountain and all.

Fox frowned. Even so, he wouldn’t give up so easily. As he drifted off to sleep, he made sure his Breaths were even and deep, so that perhaps his body would become used to the feeling even while resting.

Unfortunately (but unsurprisingly), when he woke at sunset, he could instantly tell that he’d lapsed out of Full Focus: Constant during the night. Suppressing a flash of irritation, he filled his lungs and continued on his way.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The remaining six nights passed all too quickly, with little of note occuring in the interim. For the most part, Fox was either able to intervene in time to save a swordsman who was out of their depth, or found that it was unnecessary to do so, whether it was due to the swordsman’s skill or due to teamwork like the pair he’d first come across.

No less than five times, though, he arrived too late. In those situations, all he could do was put the demon to rest and bury the body, as he had done before. He did not know the names of any of the fallen, but he took their blades with him as he had done with the first. This time, though, he stowed them in the box that Wolf had given him to carry the Fang’s attachments.

Perhaps the Ubuyashiki twins would see that the blades were returned to the deceased's teachers; a cold comfort, to be sure, but closure all the same.

As for Fox’s practice of Full Focus: Constant, he frustratingly hit a block on the sixth day. Each day afterward, he could not increase his time no matter how hard he pushed himself. He felt as though he was missing something, as though there was an unknown, intangible tether holding him back from crossing a line.

It was maddening, but Fox refused to give up. He might be stuck at just six hours of Full Focus Breathing  _ now _ , but he  _ would _ break through. He had to.

As the sun rose at the end of the seventh night, Fox made his way to the edge of the testing area, marked by dimly gleaming wisteria flowers. Upon emerging into the clearing, his eyes swept the grounds, taking in the diminished numbers of applicants.

Before the Final Selection had begun, there had been thirty-five applicants. Afterwards? 

A mere  _ thirteen  _ remained, and that was  _ including  _ Makomo, Kaigaku, and himself. Even accounting for the six he had personally dug graves for, and the seventh who’d been swallowed by the Arm Demon, that still left  _ fifteen  _ people. Fifteen teenagers, killed and eaten in the process of determining if they had the skills to become a Demon Slayer.

_ Fifteen lives that Fox had failed to save. _

His hands balled into fists, the Fang creaking due to the sheer pressure of his furious, sorrowful grip. Fox closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and Breathed. Every iota of his focus was pushed towards managing his Breath, leaving no room for considering anything else.

After a minute or two, he opened his eyes. Only those who knew him intimately would have been able to see how the spark had faded from those ice-blue irises, how flat and dull they’d become.

But none of those people were here right now, were they?

As Fox walked into the clearing, he scanned the crowd once more, this time with his inner eye. To a man, those who had survived were the ones who’d registered the highest level of Chi activity when he’d looked them over at the beginning. 

Another pang of pain came when he saw the ponytailed girl who radiated wind. Her eyes were sunken and sad, and it was easy to see why. The weaker boy who’d felt faintly of water and who’d teamed up with her was nowhere in the crowd.

The sound of clapping snapped him from his spiraling thoughts. Fox realized, as he looked towards the platform where Hinaki and Nichika Ubuyashiki stood once more, that he’d been clenching his jaw. As the twins spoke, he rubbed his now sore mouth and chin, and let out a long sigh.

_ ‘This didn’t go anything like I imagined,’ _ he thought ruefully, even as newly minted Demon Slayers were called up in groups of five to receive their Kasugai messenger crows and to select the ore for the forging of their Nichirin swords.

He, Makomo, Kaigaku, and the ponytailed girl (whose name was apparently Ozaki) were called forward in the second group, along with a stern-faced, short haired young man named Daichi, whose Chi was reminiscent of sand. 

A crow landed on each of their respective shoulders, and each of the crows was slightly different in its own way. Makomo’s, for instance, had a beak so diligently polished that it glittered in the sun, while Kaigaku was partnered with a frumpy, ornery bird whose bad attitude seemed a match for his partner’s at his worst.

Fox, on the other hand, was assigned a wizened crow, battle-scarred and imperious. Its left eye was missing, a cross-shaped scar stretching across that side of its head. Despite that, though, there was nothing about the aged bird that felt  _ weak _ .

Next, they approached a table covered in lumps of ore. When Fox looked at the ingots spread before him, he could see no particular difference between them...in the material world, at least. When he gazed upon them with his inner eye, he saw that each of them was reacting differently to each of their Chi signatures. Upon finding the one that resonated the most strongly with his own life energy, he picked it up and presented it to Hinaki.

One by one, each of the other Demon Slayers picked up the ore that resonated with their Chi the most, though from the looks of things, only Makomo and Kaigaku actually realized  _ why _ they’d picked up what they did.

After the final three surviving applicants received their crows and chose the ore for their blades, they were sent on their way...save for Fox, who was asked to stay behind for a moment.

“Our father, the Master—” Hinaki began, pausing to let Nichika finish the sentence, “—requests that you meet with him—” 

Hinaki continued as her sister paused,“—at the headquarters in Kyoto—”

“—twelve days hence.” Nichika finished. “Your Nichirin blade—”

“—will have arrived—”

“—by that time.”

Fox nodded. “Understood.” The shinobi then unslung the box from his shoulder and retrieved the five blades he’d taken with him. “During my time on the mountain, I came across no fewer than six deceased applicants. One of the blades I gave to Makomo, as hers was shattered, but the remaining five I entrust to you.” 

Though only his eyes were visible to the twins, the sadness in them was plain to see. “If they could somehow be returned to the teachers of the fallen…” Fox’s voice trailed off, a distant, mournful look in his eyes.

This time, likely due to the severity of the topic, the twins did not speak in their odd, alternating cadence. Instead, Hinaki alone spoke, her voice clear and quiet. “Thank you for this, Fox. We will see to it that the Cultivators have, at the very least, closure.”

Fox merely nodded, unable or unwilling to reply to the offered gratitude. After exchanging stilted farewells, the shinobi started down the mountain, only to halt in surprise. Unexpectedly, Makomo and Kaigaku were waiting for him at the foot of the first flight of stairs.

“Come on,” Kaigaku drawled. “Little Miss here wants us to meet her teacher; something about that morphed demon we helped her kill.”

Makomo briefly bristled at the nickname, before sighing and shaking her head. “What this crass fellow says is correct, Fox.”

Fox reached up to the mask and tugged it down, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Actually,” Kiyoshi said, calmer now that he’d swapped faces once more, “you can call me Kiyoshi now, Makomo.”

She gave a puzzled smile. “If you say so, Kiyoshi.”

And with that, the unlikely trio continued down the mountain. Their destination? 

Sagiri Mountain, the home of the former Water Pillar, and the most skilled Cultivator of the Breath of the Water: Sakonji Urokodaki.

* * *

**AN: A bit late this week, for which I apologise. I struggled to get the fight scene exactly how I wanted; hopefully it came out well!**


	21. Chapter 18: A Brief Respite

Chapter 18: A Brief Respite

The trek from Fujikasane Mountain to Sagiri Mountain was about two day’s travel, at least for the trio of newly-minted Demon Slayers. During their travel, Kiyoshi continued to practice with Full Focus: Constant, but to frustratingly little effect. He  _ had _ to be missing something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out.

Were that all, Kiyoshi would have easily overcome his irritation, but it wasn’t. No, his discontent ran far deeper than that, though Kiyoshi himself wasn’t aware of it.

Of course, Kiyoshi’s frustration was not lost on his traveling companions.

Kaigaku, despite how he’d begun to open up, was scarcely inclined to initiate conversation about anything other than fighting and eating. Makomo, on the other hand, had no such disinclination. When the trio stopped travelling for the evening, settling under the boughs of an ancient oak, she broached the topic. “Kiyoshi, are you unwell? You seem rather...discontent.”

Kiyoshi’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t realize it was so obvious. I’m not ill, I’m just... _ struggling _ with this technique.”

Makomo cocked her head curiously and motioned for him to continue. Though Kaigaku continued his silence, the gleam in his eyes betrayed his interest.

Kiyoshi folded his hands in his lap and leaned back against the tree, gazing through the leaves at the darkening skies for a few moments. Then, he began to speak.

“The technique is called ‘Full Focus: Constant. Lady Shinobu, the Insect Pillar, told me about it.” Kiyoshi blew out a sigh. “Apparently, the gulf between those who can constantly maintain a state of Full Focus Breathing and those who cannot is a magnitude greater than the gap between a member of the Corps and an untrained civilian. In fact,” he raised a finger, “it’s one of the prerequisites to becoming a Pillar.”

“Master never told me anything about that, and he used to be a Pillar,” Kaigaku remarked with a frown.

Makomo gave a nod, adding, “Neither did Master Urokodaki.”

Kiyoshi nodded. “Lady Shinobu said that most students aren’t told about it until they’re at least Hinoto rank, so they don’t try to reach beyond their grasp and hurt themselves. Tsuguko usually learn about it, though, so it’s probably fine for both of you to know as well.”

“Ah,” Makomo breathed, her eyes suddenly sad, “that would explain it. Master Urokodaki...he has lost many,  _ many _ students to that morphed demon, and I am certain that he frets over the heath and safety of those he teaches.”

Kaigaku, for his part, didn’t give voice to his thoughts about being out of the loop on this topic, though the grimace on his face made it quite clear that he wasn’t pleased about it.

“Anyways,” Kiyoshi continued, “during Final Selection, I...hit a block, I guess. I can’t seem to maintain my Breath for longer than six hours.” He cupped his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps Sir Urokodaki will have some suggestions…” Kiyoshi looked up abruptly, a sheepish look on his face. “That is, if you don’t mind me asking your teacher, Makomo.”

She gave a light, warm laugh. “Please, Kiyoshi. I do not have sole rights to my teacher’s knowledge; feel free to ask him whatever you like. I cannot promise he will grant you a straight answer, however; Master Urokodaki oft favors less direct answers to questions.” Makomo raised her finger and spoke in a faux-imperious tone. “Just as water is able to flow in any direction and take any shape, so too must your mind and body be malleable and free…” she trailed off with a chuckle, then added, “...or so Master says.”

Kaigaku made a rude noise, then snarked, “That just sounds like he doesn’t feel like answering.”

Makomo rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Perhaps,” she riposted, “or perhaps  _ my _ teacher knows that I am capable of reasoning out the true meaning of his words, and do not need his teaching spoon-fed to me.”

Kaigaku narrowed his eyes. “You calling me stupid, girly?” 

“And if I am?” Makomo replied serenely.

The silence grew tense as Kaigaku glared at Makomo, and the seconds dragged on...before Kaigaku threw his head back and let out a harsh, barking laugh. “Maybe I am, then,” he replied once he’d calmed down a bit. “For someone so prim and proper looking, you’ve got some steel to you.” He gave a feral, but not altogether unfriendly grin. “I don’t hate it.”

Makomo covered her mouth with her sleeve to hide the smile that had crept across it, though her eyes gave it away. “I am sure I do not know what you are talking about, Kaigaku.”

Kiyoshi looked between his two traveling companions, a small smile on his face. Both of them were quite the characters, there was no mistaking  _ that _ , but he couldn’t say he minded traveling with such lively, colorful people.

It was certainly a lot less lonely than Mister Wolf’s journey had sounded, anyway.

-x-x-x-

The next day found the trio leaving the more heavily forested part of the province and entering the flatlands, where rice paddies and farmhouses abounded. A few curious looks were shot their way by farmers working their crops, as they made for an unusual sight, but thankfully nobody accosted them for being unaccompanied by an adult. As such, they made good time, and by the time the sun hung low in the sky they could see Sagiri Mountain on the horizon.

As they approached the foot of the mountain, Makomo almost seemed to  _ vibrate  _ with intensity. Not quite giddiness and not quite anxiety, the girl seemed to be filled with an almost overwhelming sense of  _ longing _ , to Kiyoshi's inner eye at least. One thing was clear, though: Makomo couldn't be happier to see her teacher again—no, more than that: she was overjoyed to be  _ returning home _ . 

The warmth and love with which she spoke of Sir Urokodaki would be unmistakable even if Kiyoshi  _ didn’t _ have his inner eye; after all, it was the same warmth that he felt whenever he was around Miss Tamayo and Mister Wolf, and the same warmth that Kaigaku poorly concealed that he felt for Mister Kuwajima. The warmth of  _ belonging _ , of having someone you can call family, someplace you can call  _ home _ .

And all too soon, that very home was before the trio. Night had finally fallen, and the forest was alive with the sounds of insects and birds. The sole light in the forest was flickering candlelight from the window of a small wooden cabin, situated beside a dirt trail that led up the mountain.

As the cabin came into view, the intense sense of longing Makomo was giving off seemed to hit a peak, and she broke into a run, leaving Kiyoshi and Kaigaku behind as she bolted towards her home. 

Just as Makomo reached the cabin’s door, it slid open to reveal a red-masked figure clad in a blue kimono patterned with white clouds; the very same masked figure, Kiyoshi noted, who’d accompanied Makomo to Miss Kanae’s funeral. Without a doubt, this was Sakonji Urokodaki, former Water Pillar.

As Kiyoshi and Kaigaku approached at a far more sedate pace, Makomo embraced her teacher. Sir Urokodaki bent down to return the embrace, pulling her close with a degree of care usually reserved for spun glass. 

Though Kiyoshi could not hear the words that passed between them, his inner eye told him all he needed to know. It showed him the desperate, disbelieving relief that was coursing through Sir Urokodaki, and how Makomo had  _ finally _ fully relaxed and lowered her guard completely, something she hadn’t yet done around the two of them. And of course, Kiyoshi could scarcely miss the deep bond between them, the unmistakable tie of familial love. It was an overwhelmingly potent sensation, but not painfully so.

_ It was truly a beautiful thing. _

With his inner eye open so wide, though, Kiyoshi felt... _ something _ he couldn’t identify on the edge of his awareness. It felt like nothing he’d ever felt before, not quite human and  _ distinctly  _ not demonic. It was far in the distance, somewhere off in the mountains.

All the same, whatever this oddity  _ was _ , it didn’t feel hostile, so Kiyoshi put it out of his mind for the moment. There were more important things to focus on right now.

As Kiyoshi and Kaigaku crossed the last few meters of the path to Sir Urokodaki’s cabin, the tengu-masked former Pillar released Makomo and turned to regard the two of them. Though the mask obscured his face completely, both of them felt the weight of Sir Urokodaki’s measuring gaze all the same.

“And who,” he asked in a soft, yet serious voice, “are you two?”

Kiyoshi was the first to step forward, bowing deeply at the waist as he introduced himself. “Kiyoshi Ametsuchi, newly of the Mizunoto rank. I will be in your care, Sir Urokodaki.” After a moment of silence, he jabbed his elbow into Kaigaku’s ribs.

Kaigaku gave a huff, then bowed as well, though his was far more sloppy. “Name’s Kaigaku. No family name.” He jerked a thumb at Kiyoshi, then gestured at Makomo. “New Mizunoto, just like them.” A spark seemed to crackle into existence in his eyes. “Came along because she,” he gestured to Makomo again, “said you used to be a Pillar, just like Master. I was curious.”

Kiyoshi shook his head slightly, an exasperated smile coming to his face. “Of course, Makomo inviting us to come meet you was the chief reason, at least for me.”

Sir Urokodaki looked between the duo and his student, his expression concealed behind the scowl of his crimson mask. After a moment, though, he motioned to his door. “It seems we have much to discuss.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

After Master Urokodaki had drawn the story of what had happened during Final Selection out of Makomo, he’d gone quiet for a while. He’d just...knelt at the fire pit, fists tight and head bowed. After a time, he’d gone over to Kiyoshi and Kaigaku and laid a hand on each of their shoulders, then spoke in a voice choked with emotion.

“Thank you, both of you. Thank you for helping my disciple survive that morphed demon, and thank you for helping avenge the deaths of my past students.”

Kiyoshi had merely given a smile, and said, “I was able to help, and I did. It’s as simple as that.” Something about his smile and the way he’d spoken had felt  _ off  _ to Makomo, though she couldn’t put her finger on the source of that feeling.

Kaigaku, on the other hand, had given a snort and replied, “You don’t need to thank me; Makomo was the one to finish off that meaty bastard with that dragon of hers. We just kept it busy.” He’d then shot her a feral smirk and said, “Don’t think that it’ll be the same next time, though.”

And now the four of them were crowded around the fire pit, enjoying one of Master Urokodaki’s delicious hotpots as a late dinner. Compared to the rice balls and trail rations they’d been eating for the past week or so, this was  _ heaven _ , and it was clear that Kiyoshi and Kaigaku agreed with her, if the way they were tucking into their own meals was any indication.

After they finished their meals, Master Urokodaki gathered up the dishes and started washing them in a small basin of river water. As he worked, he began to ask Kiyoshi and Kaigaku questions, with the first (unsurprisingly) being about Kiyoshi’s false arm.

“It’s a long story,” Kiyoshi hedged, “and one that’s pretty hard to believe, but...at Miss Kanae’s funeral last year, do you recall the one-armed man who attended with me?”

“I do,” Master Urokodaki confirmed, “he managed to freeze both Giyu and myself with nothing but the weight of his Chi. What about him?”

“He was known by a particular name, once.” Kiyoshi looked at Master Urokodaki, his eyes bright and unflinching. “Sekiro.”

Her Master said nothing for a moment, but Makomo could practically  _ feel _ his incredulousness. “The legendary One-Armed Wolf of the Sengoku era? The man who brought the land of Ashina to its knees for the sin of stealing away his lord?  _ That _ Sekiro?”

Kiyoshi nodded seriously. “Mister Wolf no longer claims the title of Sekiro, because he has passed the Shinobi Fang,” he rattled the false arm in emphasis, “to me. One day I  _ will _ be worthy of the title he bestowed upon me.” Kiyoshi’s face twisted into a mask of determination. “One day, I will claim the name of Sekiko, but for now...for now, I am Fox.”

“I...I see,” Master Urokodaki replied, very clearly nonplussed and befuddled by what Kiyoshi had revealed to them. And in fairness, Makomo was also taken aback. She’d not heard of this Sekiro person, but her Master had said that he was from the  _ Sengoku  _ era, which had ended hundreds of years ago. To claim that he’d been taught by a man from that time period...had Kiyoshi been anybody else, Makomo would have immediately dismissed him as mad, and even now she wasn’t sure if she believed he wasn’t.

Apparently, though, Master Urokodaki had decided to handle his confusion by changing the topic, this time to ask Kaigaku a question. The boy in question didn’t seem to care much about the baffling claim that Kiyoshi had made, oddly enough.

“Kaigaku, was it?” her Master asked, receiving a nod in response. “You mentioned your master was a Pillar as well, did you not? What is his name?”

Kaigaku opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by the twin sounds of shattering cookware and Master Urokodaki inhaling sharply as he stared past the three of them. At the same time, Kiyoshi’s head snapped around, eyes fixed on whatever had shocked Master Urokodaki so.

Of course, Makomo turned to look as well, laying eyes upon a peach-haired boy with a scar on the right side of his mouth, which was pulled into a small,  _ incredibly _ sad smile. Makomo’s eyes widened as they fixed first on the fox mask that dangled from his hand and then on the tunic he was wearing, or more specifically, the pattern that adorned it.

_ It was the very same pattern that comprised half of Sir Giyu’s haori. _

As though in a trance, Master Urokodaki stumbled towards the boy, one hand outstretched. It was then that he finally spoke again, his voice barely a whisper.

_ “Sabito?” _

* * *

**AN: ...Well. It’s certainly been a while, now hasn’t it? I do apologise for that; the past month has been...** ** _rough_ ** **, shall we say, for a number of reasons, and that impacted my will to write rather harshly. However, I seem to have recovered my spark to some degree, so hopefully the following weeks will see a return to my once-weekly posting schedule.**


	22. Chapter 19: Reunion

Chapter 19: Reunion

As the boy apparently named Sabito smiled sadly at Sir Urokodaki, Kiyoshi shut his physical eyes and opened his inner one as wide as he could. He reached deep inside himself, letting his Chi radiate out from his body in gentle waves towards the boy who was unmistakably the source of the strange Chi he’d sensed earlier. 

He was no demon, that was made clear immediately; his Chi held no trace of the twisted, profane corruption that marked the life energy of every demon, not even dormant and shackled like within Miss Tamayo and Mister Yushiro. He felt similar to a human, but there was something off, something...something  _ missing _ , Kiyoshi realized. Chi was a mix of the physical, the mental, and the spiritual, the life energy of body, mind, and soul...but this Sabito’s Chi was utterly lacking  _ any _ energy from the body.

_ ‘No, more than that,’ _ Kiyoshi noticed, a shock running through his body as he opened his eyes.  _ ‘He doesn’t have a body  _ at all! _ He’s literally just a mass of Chi given shape by his will.’ _

“A revenant…” The words escaped his lips before he could even think to hold them back, Sir Urokodaki freezing in place, one hand outstretched to Sabito.

The spirit, for of course that was what Sabito was, merely closed his eyes and nodded sadly. Sir Urokodaki staggered forward, and gingerly,  _ desperately _ , laid his hands on the boy’s shoulders. 

Kiyoshi expected the man’s hands to merely pass through Sabito, but to the shinobi’s surprise, the spirit’s Chi reached out eagerly to Sir Urokodaki’s own and enveloped it. Sabito lurched forward, eyes filled with tears that were all too real despite their lack of physical form, and wrapped his arms around Sir Urokodaki in a tight hug. In a voice barely just above a whisper, Sabito choked out, “I’m sorry. I failed you, Master.”

Sir Urokodaki froze, arms around Sabito. Choking back a sob, he growled, “Don’t you  _ ever _ say you failed me, Sabito. The failure was mine and mine alone.”

To everyone else’s eyes, this heartbreaking exchange was all that occurred, but Kiyoshi, with his third eye open wide, saw more. He saw how Sabito’s very life force enveloped Sir Urokodaki’s, gentle waves caressing a great dragon and washing away a measure of grief that was somehow simultaneously as vast as the ocean and as small as a grain of sand. He saw the bond between master and disciple, between father and son, and between mourner and lost, all overlaying and interweaving with one another endlessly, flowing between each other infinitely. He saw the joy of an orphan finding a family, the pride of a teacher whose student excelled, and the wrenching agony of the dead and the left behind alike.

Words beyond counting were exchanged in that embrace, and Kiyoshi bore witness to the entire exchange. How could he not? 

_ Fifteen.  _

For all that it was painful and overwhelming to watch, what he was experiencing was a mere fraction of what the two were going through,  _ had been _ going through for the past several years at the very least. 

_ Fifteen people, devoured by demons. _

Sharing in that pain might not ease their burden in any way, but he felt that it was his duty to sear this into his very being.

_ Fifteen lives ended in agony and fear. _

That way, he would never forget the cost of his weakness.

_ Fifteen souls that he failed to save. _

After a time, Sir Urokodaki and Sabito separated, the older man taking a seat at the fire and motioning for the spirit to do the same. Makomo shifted over to make more room, moving closer to Kaigaku in the process. The usually-surly boy flushed slightly pink and looked away, obviously unprepared for, and unused  _ to _ , having a girl in such close physical proximity.

This was not lost on Makomo, who looked  _ entirely _ too amused by Kaigaku’s reaction. Kiyoshi, for his part, was more focused on the exchange occurring between Sir Urokodaki and Sabito.

“How is this possible?” the masked man asked softly, placing one hand gingerly on the revenant’s shoulder. “ _ Onryo _ ...the wrathful dead aren’t called what they are because they retain their calm.”

Sabito gave that same, heart-wrenchingly sad smile as he replied, “If hatred and malice can allow the dead to remain in the world of the living, then so can love, Master Urokodaki. You took me in when I had nowhere else to go, and built me up into someone who could stand on his own feet.” His face twisted into a mournful scowl. “I may have died angry and afraid at the hands of that wretched morphed demon, but…” Sabito’s smile returned, this time split evenly between that deep sadness and a radiant, deep adoration. 

“Master, even if a thousand years passed, I would not stop loving you as the father I never had.”

Sir Urokodaki made a noise somewhere between a grief-ridden wail and a relieved sob, and pulled Sabito close once more. At this point, Kiyoshi finally looked away, back towards his traveling companions.

Makomo’s eyes were bright and filled with tears, which she then dashed away with the back of her sleeve and straightened her back. Kaigaku, having forgotten his embarrassment in the face of this raw emotional display, had an unusually thoughtful and subdued expression on his face.

_ ‘I suppose it  _ has _ been an eventful evening, even for us…’ _ Kiyoshi thought wryly.  _ ‘And something tells me that things won’t become any less complicated as we continue as Demon Slayers.” _

After a while, Sir Urokodaki and Sabito parted from their embrace. The spirit returned to his seat by the fireplace, which by now was but embers. Meanwhile, Sir Urokodaki returned to the side of his cabin where he’d been cleaning dishes and cleaned up the broken earthenware before returning to his own seat.

The old cultivator gazed at the spirit of his student for a long moment, then turned to regard Kiyoshi and Kaigaku. He gestured to his home as he spoke. “As you can see, I do not have a great deal of space, but I should be able to find room for the two of you to stay; it is the least I can do as thanks for helping my student slay that morphed demon.”

Kiyoshi inclined his head with a faint smile. “Though no thanks are necessary, I will accept your hospitality nonetheless.”

Kaigaku, for his part, made a noise between a snort and a scoff, before replying, “I’ll stay the night, but Teacher will want to hear of my success.” After a moment, he gave a grunt as Makomo drove her elbow into his ribs. “And thanks, I guess.” He looked away as he spoke, a grumpy expression on his face.

Makomo couldn’t have looked more pleased with herself if she’d tried.

-x-x-x-

True to his word, Kaigaku departed the following morning, rolling his eyes when Kiyoshi asked him to pass his regards on to Zenitsu, but ultimately acquiescing with a fair bit of grumbling. Makomo had woken in time to see him off as well, practically forcing a bag of travel rations into his arms, much to the prideful boy’s visible consternation.

Sir Urokodaki and Sabito had disappeared higher into the mountains before the three had even woken, leaving behind a note for Makomo to join them when she was awake. The capricious girl did so, but not before making sure Kiyoshi knew where she kept her snacks, in case he got hungry.

_ ‘Really, that Makomo is quite the meddler,’ _ Kiyoshi mused as he began stretching, standing in a clearing a short ways north of Sir Urokodaki’s cabin. With nobody around and precious little to do in the forest, he decided to take the opportunity to polish his fundamentals. Once his warm-ups were done, he slipped the cloth and steel of his mask up over his mouth and nose. Between breaths, Kiyoshi receded and Fox came to the fore, then the shinobi drew his sword and began to move and Breathe. Thin wisps of silver-grey smoke trailed behind his blade and the Shinobi Fang alike as he flowed from motion to motion, strike to strike. Soon enough, conscious thoughts fell away one by one and he lost himself in the fluid dance of imagined combat.

This continued for an indeterminate amount of time, until the hair on the back of Fox’s neck stood up, and he realized that he was being watched. He turned to see that he was being observed by Sakonji Urokodaki. As he sheathed his blade, Fox noted that despite the fact that the former Pillar was mere meters away from him, he had heard not one single footstep. After filing that piece of information away, Fox removed his mask, and Kiyoshi’s face came to light once again.

Bowing his head, Kiyoshi addressed the man. “Sir Urokodaki! Please, forgive my rudeness; were you waiting long?”

The masked Demon Slayer gave a warm chuckle. “Not at all, young Kiyoshi; indeed, you have keener senses than I had anticipated. I had barely returned before you noticed me.”

Kiyoshi rubbed at the back of his head, giving an embarrassed laugh.

“However,” Sir Urokodaki continued, “I must ask: just how long have you been training?”

The freshly-minted Demon Slayer glanced at the sun and did some mental math. “About...five hours now, give or take thirty minutes?” His stomach rumbled at that moment, as though it had only realized how much time had passed when it had been vocalized.

The former Water Pillar chuckled again, and beckoned to Kiyoshi. “Come then; Makomo has put the stew on, and lunch should not be long now.” Kiyoshi, now acutely aware of how hungry he was, nodded with a sheepish smile and followed Sir Urokodaki back to his cabin.

Within, Makomo was a domestic dervish, one moment tending to the pot of stew over the fire pit, the next across the cabin chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Kiyoshi swore he saw splashes of Chi-water in her footsteps on more than one occasion, but when he looked again, they were nowhere to be found.

Before the shinobi could become  _ too _ distracted by the prospect of Makomo using Breath techniques to cook more efficiently, Sir Urokodaki took a seat at the fire and asked, “Young Kiyoshi, Makomo tells me that you have already begun using Full Focus: Constant, despite having only just completed the Final Selection.” 

As Kiyoshi settled into place opposite the man and nodded, the tengu-masked man hummed thoughtfully. “Ordinarily I would be concerned about a Slayer learning about that technique so early, but I suppose that you are hardly a novice.” He gave a chuckle. “After all, being taught by the legendary One-Armed Wolf  _ and  _ the last heiress to the Ashina school has to count for  _ something _ .”

Kiyoshi folded his hands in his lap and smiled. “Yes, Mister Wolf and Miss Tamayo were incredible teachers. I would not be who I am today without them.”

As Makomo darted around them to add something to the stew, Sir Urokodaki nodded his head and remarked, “The results of your training speak for themselves. Six hours of Full Focus: Constant, was it?” 

This time, Kiyoshi’s nod was slightly stiffer, though he did a remarkable job of keeping his emotions from showing on his face. No matter how impassive his face might have been, though, the former Pillar saw through his facade—or rather,  _ smelled _ through it. Sir Urokodaki shook his head slowly. “You should not despair so, young Kiyoshi. Six hours is one-fourth of a day, and far beyond what many Slayers much more experienced than yourself have achieved.”

As Kiyoshi opened his mouth to protest, the former Water Pillar held up a hand to forestall him. “Allow this old man to give you a bit of advice: you use a Breath style of your own design, and one you are still developing, yes?” Without waiting for a reply, Sir Urokodaki plowed onward. “Therein lies the solution to your problem, I suspect.”

Kiyoshi cocked his head to one side and listened intently to the masked man. “Usually, a person develops a personal Breath style under the direct tutelage of a Pillar, whether former or current,” Sir Urokodaki explained. “Take the newest Pillar, for example: she studied under the Flame Pillar to develop her Breath of Love from the Breath of Flames. By the time she finished training under him, her Breath style and her use of Full Focus: Constant had both reached a state of resolution.

“You, however,” the former Water Pillar continued, leaning forward both for emphasis and to allow Makomo to dart behind him with a plate of meat skewers, “have not completed your personal Breath style, your Breath of Silence.” Sir Urokodaki tented his hands, and then asked rhetorically, “What, then, does that mean for your usage of Full Focus: Constant?”

Kiyoshi’s eyes widened in realisation.

For the rest of the evening, he was silent, apart from thanking Makomo for the delicious meal she had prepared. If he needed to complete and master his Breath to master Full Focus: Constant, then he had his work cut out for him.

But then, hadn’t that always been the case? Kiyoshi smiled wryly in the dark as he lay in Sir Urokodaki’s guest room. He had an uphill battle ahead of him, to be sure.

But he’d been taught to “climb” by one of the most skilled to ever live.

* * *

**AN: So...here’s an update. It’s been almost four months. I’m not going to make excuses, I’m just going to offer my apologies for how long it has been. I’m not going to promise that I will return to making weekly updates, but I will promise that I will at least try to return to ** ** _regular _ ** **updates.**

**Also, this thanks is long overdue, but to whoever made a TvTropes page for my fic, thank you so much. It means a lot that someone cared enough to do that, and anyone who wants to edit it or add to it as the story goes on is more than welcome to do so.**

**With that all said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


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